


A Little R and R

by Zoop (zoop526)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, March of the Naked Uruk-hai, Modern Woman Falls Into Middle Earth, Orc-talk, Original Character Death(s), Romance, Suicidal Thoughts, Tenth Walker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-20 16:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 108,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoop526/pseuds/Zoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>10th Walker decides to ditch the Fellowship after Helm's Deep. Tired of killing orcs, she drags an Uruk survivor along for the ride. Seductions, arguments, and discussions about the best way to "serve" man ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sweet Little Lies

_You do not know pain. You do not know fear_.

The words echoed in his mind, yet they were lies. Such pain as he had never known in his entire existence wrestled him to the ground, pinned him there, and hovered over him like a ravenous beast. Rukhtorû dared not move, for moving caused the beast to bite down harder. As awareness returned, the pain increased, punishing him for not staying down, for not dying like the others.

Voices, not far off. The victors, searching among the dead, no doubt. He knew they would find many of their own, and chuckled mirthlessly. It cost him; the blade still sunk in his chest grated against ribs, sliced a little more deeply, wrenched a groan from his throat. It was not a normal blade that stabbed him; the metal still glowed a bright blue and seemed to burn him from the inside out. He watched with dismay as his hand feebly touched the hilt, too weak to pull it out.

Then he knew fear. He felt the lifeblood seeping from his leg, remembered the downward stroke of the sword that had cut through the metal guard, cut him to the bone from hip to knee. He would bleed to death eventually, he knew. He did not want this; a swift death in battle was far preferred to a weak, trembling, drawn out death, left at the mercy of his enemy, abandoned by his master.

Head swimming, he dimly saw movement, heard footsteps approaching. A slight smile curved his mouth. _Here it comes_ , he thought with relief. _My swift death at last. Meet it with eyes wide open, for I am fighting Uruk-hai. I **will** not know fear._

* * *

She couldn't take her eyes off the carnage they had wrought, though it made her sick to her stomach. There had never been time to look upon the dead they left in their wake in Moria or at Amon Hen. Now, she could see their faces, bestial yet intelligent. They had not died quickly or cleanly, as they did in stories. Their faces showed pain, suffering, anger...

Here was the severed forearm of a Rider from Rohan, horse's reins still clenched in the dead fist, the horse split open on the ground. There was an Uruk berserker's still helmed head, mouth gaping in silent fury.

_Kill any orcs you find alive_ , Theoden had said when he sent them forth to search for wounded men. So she was gingerly picking her way among the dead, occasionally waving down the cart driver collecting the wounded to come fetch another breather. So far, though, she had seen no living orc. More than a few of the men she found breathed their last still waiting for the over-burdened cart to reach them.

The killing field was silent in the waning daylight. The deceptively peaceful trees swayed in the breeze. Probably by nightfall they would move off, heading back to Fangorn. Romana briefly wondered if they'd leave a grisly trail of black-skinned body parts behind in their wake. The thought made her shudder.

Grimacing, she stepped over the body of an orc lying spread-eagle on the ground, the broken shaft of a spear protruding from his chest. Death was merciless in its final moments. Many of the dead, men and orcs included, lay in waste, their bowels releasing in their death throes. Expressions of terror frozen on their faces, even the pale tracks of tears through the grime of battle. Men and orcs alike.

In the stillness, the sound of a groan echoed and carried to Romana's ears. Sighing, she diverted her path in that direction.

Just ahead lay an orc's body, chest rising and falling. The movement made the blue-glowing dagger shift back and forth unsteadily. He was not just alive, but aware, his eyes staring at the sky, blinking occasionally. His hand swayed slightly as he feebly tried to take hold of the hilt, but his aim was bad, control over his arm elusive in his pain.

Her stomach clenched. That dagger was hers. She'd been gifted it by Lady Galadriel herself a million years ago in Lothlorien. Had she roamed this far during the battle, that the orc whose body claimed her prized weapon was found so close to the edge of the field? Or had he crawled away?

Steeling herself, and nearly feeling as awkward as a little girl approaching an intimidating stranger, Romana walked closer and looked down into the orc's face. His yellow eyes flicked to her face, his mouth contorting with malice. When his lips parted over his sharp teeth, black blood seeped from the corner of his mouth and ran into his hair.

She slowly sank to her knees beside him, swallowing hard. His eyes followed her, but neither of them made a sound. Her trembling hand held her spare knife, and she slowly leaned over. Time seemed to stop; the world held its breath. Or perhaps _she_ couldn't breathe. The blade was almost touching his throat. A hard swallow made his neck rise just enough to make contact, and his eyes never left hers...

No. This wasn't right. Romana drew back and sheathed the knife, shaking her head. Tearing her eyes away from the orc's bewildered face for a moment, she dug a cloth from her haversack and wadded it up. Reaching forward a little hesitantly, she gingerly took hold of the hilt with one hand and pressed the cloth against the wound with the other. Taking a deep breath and glancing at his face, she pulled the blade free.

His roar hurt her ears, and his body shook violently before going still. She almost thought it was too much for him and he died, except that his breathing began to slow to a more reasonable pace. Romana grimly held the compress to his ribs. His eyes closed for a few moments with relief. Even his face relaxed somewhat.

Looking him over, she saw the ghastly wound on his leg. Her sword had done that, she remembered. The fine, elven blade had cut through his armor like paper, tearing flesh and muscle to the bone...

Taking his hand, she pressed it on the stab wound, then pulled a roll of cloth from her bag. Setting it on his belly, she worked at the buckles on his leg guard, removing it and casting the ruined metal plate aside. She gently raised his knee, then wrapped his thigh tightly with the bandage.

* * *

Rukhtorû watched her work, baffled. How could she _not_ slay him, after all that was done? And now she was _helping_ him? He could not understand why she would do this, and now he was confused by the fact that _she_ had stabbed him in the first place. He remembered her now, though her identity had not been as obvious in full armor and helm. But her scent... he would never forget the smell of the whiteskin that nearly killed him.

The rumble of a cartload of wounded came to his ears, and he turned his head to see. The sound got her attention as well, and she stood and started waving wildly.

"Hey! Over here!" she cried. Rukhtorû saw the cart driver acknowledge her and start making his way in their direction.

Crouching down by him again, she rested a hand on his shoulder and smiled at him.

"Trust me," she said. "I know what I'm doing."


	2. Dick Jokes in the Mud

"No, not going on the cart," the man protested. "Do as the king says and kill the beast. I'll not have the thing's filth anywhere near these brave men."

"All right, all right," Romana soothed, raising her hands in surrender. "Fine. Do me a favor, then. Tell Gandalf I need to see him out here. Can you do that?"

The man's jaw fell open. "You would have me _fetch_ the White Rider as if he were a servant?"

"Tell him Romana asks for him, and...well, tell him what I found. He'll come running, believe me."

The man muttered something under his breath about mad women, but climbed aboard the cart and turned the horse back toward the keep. Shaking her head, she went back to the orc and sat heavily beside him.

"Sheesh, people are so sensitive after a battle," she remarked, pulling a waterskin from her bag. "Thirsty?" she asked, offering him the skin.

He only nodded, allowing her to help him quench his thirst. Once sated, he grabbed her by the throat with the hand not keeping pressure on his ribs. "Foolish woman," he growled.

Glaring at him, Romana punched him hard on his wounded leg. He released her quickly, grabbing his thigh and groaning. "Well, now. I see we're going to have a bit of a behavior problem with you, aren't we?" she snapped.

"Why do you keep me alive?" he snarled. "For sport?"

"Hardly," she snorted. "My people don't murder the fallen, and we certainly don't torture prisoners." At his skeptical glare, she grinned. "Yeah. I'm taking you prisoner, handsome. I've toed the line with these jokers for months, now it's time for mama to take a stand."

"You think me handsome?" he asked incredulously, a laugh shaking his body uncomfortably. "You _are_ mad."

"Apparently, Saruman didn't teach you about sarcasm. No, you're about as far away from handsome as anyone can get. Except maybe sharpei dogs. Now _that's_ a face only a mother could love."

"You almost killed me," he muttered venomously. "If I had my sword, I would kill you."

"If you had your sword, you wouldn't be able to lift it," she replied mildly, sipping from the skin. "You've lost a lot of blood. Your grip is weak." She rubbed her throat absently. "In any case, if you hadn't already lost it, I would have tossed it away. Where you're going, the only weapons around will be pointed right at you."

"Finish it, then," he snapped. "Kill me."

She shook her head and regarded him thoughtfully. "Nah, I don't want to. Battle's over, dude. You guys lost fair and square. Here's the most insulting thing, too. You know how many were in the keep? Three hundred or so. Maybe four. Against your, what, ten thousand? Even Gandalf's little cavalry charge this morning wasn't more than a couple thousand. Your days were already numbered when Saruman dug you out of the ground or whelped you or however you were made."

Her words angered him greatly, but surprised him as well. "So few against so many? How is that possible?" he snarled.

"Easy," she said, shrugging. "We had a reason to fight. Land, families, the greater good, the future of Mankind, freedom, flowers in the springtime, warm blankets, good ale, hot sex... A gazillion things. What did _you_ lot fight for? Saruman's 'eat what you kill' program?" Snorting, she chugged another big gulp and gave him a drink as well. "Simple military strategy. Never underestimate your enemy's will to fight."

"What do you know about strategy?" he scoffed, though he couldn't get the words 'hot sex' out of his mind no matter how hard he tried.

"A shit-ton more than you do, I'll bet," she said easily. "Look, you know where you fucked up? You backed these people into a corner. You came screaming down the hill, waving your dicks in the air, trumpeting like elephants in heat. That's your strategy. Scare tactics. Sheer numbers. Just look what it got you. Ten thousand of you, snuffed out. The trees even kicked your asses."

He winced. The cries of his brothers still echoed in his mind, horrified and pain-filled, silenced one by one...

"Hey, relax," she said, patting his arm. "War's over for you, and I think for me too. I've had just about my fill. I don't think I could kill another one of you if my life depended on it now. That makes me the only ally you will ever have around here. So, you know, don't waste the second chance I just gave you, all right?"

"My master is my 'ally,' _tark_ ," he retorted, yellow eyes flaring.

"Your master is maybe a day away from getting his ass handed to him," she observed. "He's certainly the sad owner of a flooded valley full of angry trees on the warpath by this point. You think that crowd over there were merciless, you should see their _leader_. He's tearing Saruman a new one as we speak. Anyone left in the valley when you guys marched down here is now a bloated carcass getting washed downstream."

Rukhtorû began to shake with a mixture of fear, fury, and denial. Shaking his head, he hissed, "You lie. Saruman cannot be defeated."

"Saruman," she retorted sarcastically, "is a steaming pile of horse shit." Setting the skin aside, she ticked off each statement on her fingers. "One, he betrayed the Valar. Two, he betrayed the Maiar. Three, he betrayed the Istari. Four, he betrayed the White Council. Five, he betrayed the Free Peoples. He had betraying Sauron himself in his sites even before you guys marched. How long do you think it would be before he betrayed you? The guy's a dick."

"He would not betray us," the Uruk snarled through gritted teeth. "He made us. We serve him faithfully."

"Yeah, you ought to serve him on a platter," she smirked. "See if a wizard tastes as good as a man." Lifting her skin in a mock toast, she downed another mouthful. "Here's another thing you did wrong. You gave up the high ground. What the hell? You _never_ give up the high ground. Erkenbrand just ran right up your ass without any resistance. You didn't even get a smile or a reach-around or anything. What the hell is wrong with your generals? That's what I'd like to know. Doesn't matter now, I guess, since they're all dead."

Rukhtorû shook his head to clear it. This woman would _not_ shut up, and he was feeling faint. The mistakes the Uruk-hai made were a sore point at the moment, and he did not wish to continue hearing about what they did wrong. "Nothing tastes as good as man-flesh," he growled, sneering.

"Hmph," she replied, clearly unimpressed with his attempt to shock her. "Yup, it's what's for dinner, eh?" Then she snickered. "So do we taste better cooked or raw?" Without waiting for an answer he was unlikely to give with his jaw hanging open like that, Romana pressed on. "Traditionally, I believe, the flesh is supposed to be consumed raw. Best bang for the buck, so I understand. Many ancient human tribes used to eat their enemies, to 'absorb' the good qualities. Like bravery, strength, weapon skills, that sort of thing. Is that why you eat man-flesh? Or do you just do it cause you know it'll freak us out?"

She might have been asking him about the weather. The Uruk had always been told the consumption of man-flesh was the most abhorrent thing imaginable to humans, and just the threat of it was enough to weaken their resolve, fill them with terror. And here was a woman, considered weaker than a man in all things as far as Saruman and his servants were concerned, discussing the act as if she were preparing a meal for orcs and didn't want to offend by mucking up the presentation. Rukhtorû just could not get his head around it.

"Men...eat man-flesh?" he asked tentatively.

"Oh, not anymore, no," she said easily. "Back in the day, though, hell yeah. It's considered a very primitive practice. Although, you get a group of humans in a desperate situation where survival is on the line, and you can bet your ass there's gonna be some man-flesh on the table before it's all over. We are a short-lived species, so every second counts. Thou shalt not eat thy neighbor unless there's nothing else to eat and you'll die if you don't. I know of two instances where people were stuck somewhere, some of them died of injuries or the cold, and the others survived by snacking on the dead ones. Snow was involved both times, oddly enough." She looked up thoughtfully. "Humans don't much like being cold, I guess."

Smirking, Rukhtorû asked, "Have you eaten man-flesh?"

She laughed. "That depends on your definition of 'eat,' now doesn't it?" His grin disappeared in confusion. Winking, she said conspiratorially, "I've certainly had one or two dicks in my mouth before. Not at the same time, mind you. That would just be wrong."

He absolutely had no idea what to say to that.

"Ah!" she said suddenly, standing up and brushing the mud off her leather leggings. "Here comes Gandalf. Whoa, he looks pissed."


	3. For the Sake of Academia

Riding up to them, Gandalf swung down from Shadowfax's bare back and stood before Romana with a stern expression. The woman just looked up at him innocently.

"Okay," she said, holding up her hands, "maybe _you_ don't remember what you told Frodo about, uh, not giving people death who deserve it or whatever..."

"It would seem you do not remember, either," he cut in. "I was not talking about..."

"I didn't think you were excluding anyone in particular," she interrupted. "Honestly, how is he worse than Gollum?"

Gandalf raised his bushy eyebrows.

"Bad example," she conceded.

"Romana," the wizard began wearily, rubbing his tired eyes, "do you ever think things through? I understand that you feel differently than we do about...well, most things, but this is really going beyond what is acceptable."

"Look," she said, "I would _love_ to debate the nature of good versus evil, nature versus nurture, whether dogs make better pets than cats, but he's going to freaking _die_ of injuries _I_ gave him if we don't get a move on."

"He was struck by you and lived? You are usually more thorough," he said, his eyes twinkling.

Sighing, she said, "Fine, I screwed up killing him. I won't tell Gimli if you won't. He still thinks I beat his count."

"This is not about a wager among friends, Romana," he said gently. Whenever he took that tone with her, she felt like a misbehaving little girl. "Men have warred with orcs for thousands of years. You cannot expect them to lay it aside because you had a moment of weakness."

The wizard peered past her shoulder at the trembling orc. His yellow eyes showed a fear Gandalf never thought he'd see in one of them.

"Come on," Romana wheedled, "haven't you ever wondered about them? Wanted to just sit down and have a chat or something? Over coffee?"

Raising an eyebrow at the woman, he replied patiently, "I spent all the time I wished with orcs in Dol Guldur. I have little interest in investigating what differences there may be in those of Saruman's making."

"Some scholar _you_ are," she grumbled. "Well, not all of us had the luxury."

Gandalf's brows shot up in surprise that anyone could describe skulking about the lair of Sauron as a 'luxury.'

"All I'm saying is, if you ever want to know what makes them tick, now's your chance. He's probably the last one you'll ever see. I, for one, am looking forward to a meeting of the minds. I've had enough of the meeting of the swords."

"Do you truly believe a creature such as he would accept such an arrangement?"

"What's not to like?" she asked incredulously, spreading out her hands. "I am a bottomless fount of entertainment and laughter! Who _wouldn't_ want to hang out with me?" She gave the wizard a dazzling smile.

Secretly, Gandalf could think of at least three people who would provide ample reasons why the company of a wounded warg was preferable to hers, the least of whom being the man from Gondor who seemed to have found himself on her bad side almost as soon as they set foot out of Rivendell.

"Your...warm and lovely personality notwithstanding," Gandalf said sardonically, "there is still the matter that he is our enemy, we barely won this battle by the skin of our teeth, many fell whose loss could not be afforded, and still more lie in the healers' tents in worse condition than he. If you bring him to the keep, he will be thrown in the dungeon, _if_ he makes it even that far without being slain."

"Now, honestly, Gandalf, who's going to go for him with me in the way? Hmmm?"

"You are not so formidable that you cannot be lifted bodily and set aside," the wizard replied, amused.

"Oh, then it's on," she snarled, putting her hands on her hips. " _Particularly_ if that lumbering oaf lays a finger on me." Softening somewhat, Romana toed the mud at her feet a little. "I'm tired of this, Gandalf. Really sick and tired of it. Theoden may think walking up to a wounded person and slitting their throat is easy, but I don't. One little orc. What's it gonna hurt, huh?"

"Perhaps little, unless he decides to make trouble," Gandalf replied thoughtfully. "You are determined in this, are you not?" She nodded. "Very well, then. I will help you bring him as far as the walls, but even you must realize that his entry will be barred beyond that point. It would be unwise to press the issue."

"Thanks, Gandalf," she said, sighing with relief.

* * *

When the wizard arrived, Rukhtorû nearly died where he lay. He was an old man so like Saruman the Uruk was filled with fear of what the wizard might do to him. If he was the only survivor of the battle, it would be Rukhtorû who bore the brunt of the wizard's wrath.

Hardly daring to breathe during the confusing exchange, Rukhtorû hadn't really listened to most of what was said after the wizard turned a beady eye on him for a moment. It was like being nailed to the earth with a spear through the head, and felt nearly as bad.

To his surprise, the woman and the wizard turned toward him and approached. The horse followed in the wizard's wake, though it gave him a rather suspicious look.

"Hey, buddy," she said as she squatted down next to him, "Gandalf said I can bring you. Isn't that great?" Before Rukhtorû could make a defiant retort to this news, she looked over her shoulder and said, "You do realize he's not walking anywhere, right? Shadowfax is going to have to be a good little horsey and bear him."

"And I hope _you_ realize that a creature such as he mounted on one of the _mearas_ would not only incur the wrath of Theoden and his people, but severely weaken any argument you wish to make on his behalf. He would likely be struck down as soon as he was within bowshot of the walls."

"Why the hell is everyone such a big, fussy baby about every little thing?" she asked, clearly exasperated. Shaking her head, she turned back to Rukhtorû. "Sorry, mate. You're going to have to hoof it. Wouldn't want to get everyone's britches in a twist, would we?"

He barked a bitter laugh, making him wince and causing another stream of blood to run out the corner of his mouth. Her brow furrowed with unmistakable concern.

"All righty, then," she said, rising. "It's gonna suck, so best get it over with. Come on, gimme your hand."

Rukhtorû glared at her, but raised his arm anyway. She grasped his hand and hauled him to his feet. She seemed prepared for the weakness in his wounded leg and the swoon from blood loss, catching him before he tipped back over.

"A little help here," she grunted beneath the Uruk's weight. Glancing heavenward, the wizard took Rukhtorû's other arm and pulled it over his own shoulders. It was awkward in the extreme; not only was he actually touching the _istar_ when such liberties were never allowed by Saruman, but the difference in height between him and the woman was profound. Add to all of this that he was light-headed, and he had little confidence that he would live to reach the walls. They seemed to be a thousand miles away, though in truth the trio and the horse were only a couple hundred yards from them.

It took a few minutes of deep concentration on each step to realize they both had an arm around his waist, and she had one hand pressing the compress against his side. He gripped the woman's shoulder hard as a wrong step caused him to stumble.

"Easy there," she soothed. "And ease up a little. Retract those claws." He grunted in response, but obeyed.

The trip cost him every ounce of strength he had left and more. By the time the wall loomed above him, and the ground was not quite so littered with bodies, as they were being dragged into piles for burning, his vision was severely tunneled and blurred. His head bobbed loosely, sometimes hitting the wizard's shoulder. Sweat poured down his body, black blood dripped from his half-open mouth. He could barely drag his good leg forward, had long since lost the ability to even hold up his injured one. He'd probably dragged the toe of his boot for fifty yards.

Angry voices surrounded him suddenly. Shouts. Swords unsheathing. _Yes, my lovely one_ , he thought. _You could not give me death, but you have brought me to it. Let it be swift._

He felt himself being lowered, and sunk gratefully to the ground, falling through the earth, enveloped in the comforting, cool, soft darkness.


	4. Another One Bites the Dust

"Would it do me any good to ask what you were thinking, Romana?"

Shrugging, she said, "Probably not. I'm not asking much..."

"You're asking _too_ much!" the ranger barked. He paced away from her for a moment and returned, fists on his waist. Aragorn tapped his foot in the mud for a moment. "I do not want to touch him, much less heal him."

"Well...then...tell me what to do, and I'll do all the dirty work," she pleaded. "I did this to him. I want to fix it. Please, Strider. I beg of you."

Aragorn shook his head vigorously as if unsure what he'd heard. "You feel _guilt_? For harming an _orc_?"

"Yeah," she said quietly, a little embarrassed. "I've never actually...seen what I've done before. If he'd died, I probably wouldn't have...okay, yeah, I would have cared, but I... Never mind. The point is, I can't just let him suffer, and don't you _dare_ say killing him would end his suffering!"

The man looked down at the orc. She bound his wounds the best she was able in the filthy conditions of the field. Blood still bubbled on his lips with each shallow breath. The cloth wrapped tightly about his thigh was black from his blood. The bestial face, utterly relaxed by his unconscious state, seemed less...harsh than those he had faced throughout the night. Still, it was difficult for the ranger to imagine the orc as anything more than a vicious animal in need of being put down lest he harm an innocent person.

Like Romana.

"You did not feel this way after Moria," he pointed out.

"We didn't stick around to rifle pockets, did we?" she replied impatiently. "And before you mention the bunch who took Merry and Pippin, we were kind of in a rush then, too, remember?"

"He's not going to thank you for saving him," Aragorn said.

"Probably not, no," she said, snickering. "It would seem I'm the only one who _doesn't_ want him dead, including him."

"Why don't _you_ , Romana?" the ranger asked softly.

She frowned in thought. "Back home, I'm not a soldier. I'm not a warrior. I just read about epic battles. Play simulations. I don't get so much as a hangnail out of it. The most dangerous thing I deal with is getting a work order filed in time before someone needs to use the broken copy machine. I come here, and all of a sudden, there's a sword in my hand, monsters and scary dead guys are chasing me, the disposition of a piece of jewelry decides the fate of mankind..." Taking a deep breath, she said, "I'm done, I think. Just...patch him up, and I'll take him somewhere...else."

Aragorn shook his head. "No, you will do no such thing. If monsters chasing you is frightening, why would you want to travel with one?"

"What better use could I put him to, than as a meat shield?" she grinned.

"If you believe he would protect you from his own kind..."

"Oh, probably not, but a girl can dream, can't she?" Lightly punching the ranger's shoulder, she said, "Come on. Just a widdle stitchie-poo, huh? Make him all better? So I can take him for walkies?"

He raised an eyebrow, yet he was visibly weakening. "On one condition."

"Name it."

"Apologize to Boromir."

Her eyes flared hotly, her mouth setting in a grim line. "Apologize?" Now both eyebrows were up as he looked stern and expectant. Romana winced. "Fine. Though I think _he_ owes _me_ , since he's still alive and all."

"So you say," Aragorn allowed, "but nevertheless, it has been a very difficult journey for us all since Moria. If you do _not_ mend your differences with him..."

"My differences with Boromir," she said, lifting her chin stubbornly, "are centered around his contention that women who 'chase after men going to war,' I believe he described it, serve one of two functions. They either launder the men's clothes, or they warm the men's beds. He as much as suggested I accommodate him in the latter office."

Aragorn's jaw dropped open. "He didn't."

"Oh yeah, he did," she assured him. "Now you know why I nearly sent him down the well in the guard room. Considering Pippin's later performance that night, it probably wouldn't have mattered."

Recovering himself, he plastered a stern look over his face. "You have certainly not dispelled his accusations with your behavior since reaching Edoras."

"Oh, pish," she said dismissively. "He's just jealous."

"You may be more correct than you think," Aragorn said knowingly. "He all but seethed when he saw you dallying with that Rider."

"Ormr."

"I'm impressed you know his name," he said with a teasing grin.

"He said it means 'serpent,'" she giggled. "How could I forget? He certainly had an impressive one."

"Romana!" the ranger cried, scandalized.

"Ah, lighten up," she said with a smile. "Who _didn't_ spend what they assumed was their last night on earth..."

"No more details are required," Aragorn interrupted, wincing. She laughed again.

"Tell me what I need to do."

Finally relenting, though he would certainly have a man-to...uh...orc talk with the patient later on, Aragorn said, "First, he should be stripped and scrubbed down. If you still have your tent from Lorien, I suggest you set it up and we'll tend him inside. He's rather...exposed out here in the mud. I'd rather not have too many curious eyes upon us."

Saluting eagerly, Romana grinned. "Aye, aye, captain."


	5. The Voices in His Head

Rukhtorû drifted in and out of consciousness, his moments of lucidity brief and infrequent. Often, he heard her voice.

_...make sure you give Saruman a kick in the pants for me, okay?..._

Sometimes, he heard her singing quietly. The sound was soothing, and seemed to keep his darker dreams at bay.

_...Lonely rivers sigh, 'Wait for me, wait for me, I'll be coming home, wait for me'..._

Once, his eyes cracked open to see the woman hovering over him, her brow creased with worry, as she bathed his face and spoke softly to him, calming his racing heart.

"Easy, easy. Ssshhhh. It's okay. You're all right. It's all over."

His head swam like a boat cast adrift, unable to make landfall, yet always, there was her voice, calm and gentle, calling him to shore. Her voice, driving away the shadows that clustered around the edges of his mind, trying to consume him. Her voice, overwhelming even the Voice of his Master, inexplicably weakened and remote now.

Her voice, thundering like a storm, tearing through the fog in his mind and bringing him to awareness.

"Well, aren't you just the paragon of charity and virtue, Boromir!"

"That filthy thing isn't coming inside the walls! I don't care if the whole plain floods up to his neck!"

"He's not filthy! I washed him top to bottom. He's cleaner than _you_ are!"

"You did _what_?"

"Oh, for crying out loud! All I'm asking is to take him into the courtyard, not into the god damned keep! Can you spare ten square feet in the flipping courtyard?"

"Certainly, why not? Good luck finding a flat patch amidst the rubble!"

"Why the hell Theoden left _you_ in charge and didn't just drag your worthless ass along for the ride, I _don't_ know."

"Specifically to keep your little beast _out of the keep_!"

"What, he figured one of his own men would cave under the pressure?"

"Of your skillful seductions, _yes_."

"Ah, perfect. So he picked the one man who could resist my charms. Excellent. Proves my point. You like men better."

Incoherent sputtering followed her statement.

"Geez, don't blow a gasket. I was _kidding._ "

"I resist you because I loathe you."

"Aw, I didn't know you cared even _that_ much! I'm getting all verklempt now."

"As you are so fond of saying, _bite me_."

"Hmph. I only bite _tasty_ things. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm taking this guy into the courtyard so he doesn't drown or get an infection lying in this cesspool. _You_ can run along and go do your bossy-dude-in-charge thing."

"Am I being dismissed? Are you through with me?"

"Quite. Bugger off."

"Your servant, ma'am."

"Your nemesis, sir."

Bewildered by the exchange, Rukhtorû tried to focus on the woman as she came into view.

"Hey," she said with a gentle smile. "Sorry we woke you."

"You will take me inside the walls?" he rasped, his throat dry.

"Yeah. Inch by inch, I'll get you into the keep. It'll be a lot warmer there."

"Why?"

"Oh, the gigantor fireplace from hell is one reason..."

"No, why take me into the keep? I should not be allowed in the keep."

"I don't like this whole 'not allowed' thing," she replied, tucking his blanket warmly about his shoulders. "I tend to chafe under those sorts of rules, especially when I think they're stupid."

He snorted. "The rules are there for a reason. I am the enemy."

"Well, la-dee-da, you're the enemy," she scoffed. "Where I come from, this sort of shit-pit would _not_ be acceptable as a holding cell for a prisoner. Believe it or not, the civilian population would get its drawers in a bunch over it more than anyone else. So to me, this is completely beyond the pale. You will be in that keep, snuggling up in a blanket with a cup of hot tea by the end of the day or the walls will be lined with the heads of everyone who crosses me in the process."

"You are mad," he said.

"I've been accused of that many times, not just today," she said, smiling without taking offense. Lifting his head, she tipped her water skin into his mouth, and he drank gratefully.

Rukhtorû's brow furrowed. "I cannot hear my Master's Voice anymore."

"No surprise there," the woman said casually. "Gandalf, the wizard you met, went to pay him a visit this morning, and by now I expect he's broken Saruman's staff and handed him his pink slip."

"He is slain?"

"Nah, why spoil Wormtongue's fun? The old coot's going to dawdle around for a bit longer. Rest of the year, as a matter of fact, but he's out of your hair, and head apparently, for good. Consider it a blessing."

"It feels...different."

"I imagine it does. Did you hear him bellowing at you 24/7 or what?"

"His Voice was never loud," Rukhtorû replied thoughtfully. "It was a whisper. I don't...recall words. Just...urging."

"Mm-hm," she said. "He wanted his little slaves nice and obedient, didn't he?"

The orc scowled. "We are not slaves," he snarled, baring his teeth with malice.

He could swear he heard her say 'bullshit' in the midst of a brief, exaggerated coughing fit.

"All right, I won't argue semantics with you. Suit yourself. I don't know what else you'd call it. Anyway, what did he 'urge' you to do? Kill? Maim? TP people's houses?"

"The Voice...," Rukhtorû began, annoyed, then stopped. What _had_ the Voice been like? It was strange that it was so difficult to recall now that it was gone. "I wanted to kill. Cause pain. I felt hate."

"Whom did you hate?" she asked quietly.

"Everyone," he replied. "Everything."

"How do you feel now?"

It took him several moments to find the right word. "Lost."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyric is from "Unchained Melody" by the Righteous Brothers


	6. Womanly Wiles

The trip through the giant breach in the wall was not a fun one for either Romana or Rukhtorû. Nobody wanted to help carry him, and Romana wasn't up to the task of dragging him, so he was obliged to lean on her and hop through. Moreso than before, the height difference made a bad situation worse.

Somehow, they made it, and Rukhtorû sank down on a clean pallet far removed from the blood, mud, and stench of the battlefield. Sitting beside him in the tent she'd moved as well, Romana paused to catch her breath.

" _You_ are no lightweight."

"You are short," he retorted, closing his eyes and visibly relaxing a bit.

"Not everyone can be as big as a siege tower," she grumbled, swatting his shoulder. He scowled, but didn't bother opening his eyes. "All right, give me a minute, then plan B goes into affect."

"What is 'plan B'?" Rukhtorû asked, not entirely sure he cared at this point.

"Plan B is getting you in front of that delicious fireplace in the keep," she said brightly. "Okay, honesty time. It's really all about getting _me_ in front of that fireplace. It's frickin' cold out here."

"So go," he snarled.

"Uh, no," Romana replied, chafing her arms. "I turn my back on you, and there'll be about a dozen brave men of Rohan charging in here to skewer you like a wild boar."

The orc grunted with grim amusement. " _Two_ dozen. I would not go down as easily as a boar."

"That's the spirit," she said, grinning and punching his shoulder again. "Let's see, there's Ormr. I've had that little Horse Lord in the palm of my hand, so to speak. I'll bet I could get him to soften Boromir up a bit," she mused. Then Aragorn's words came back to her. "Ooo, maybe not." Turning to the orc, she whispered, "Rumor has it Boromir is jealous that Ormr got in my pants instead of him. I probably shouldn't take a chance on that blowing up in my face, huh?"

"'Got in your pants'?" he asked, cracking one eye open.

"Yeah," Romana replied distractedly. "Of course, I could probably use that to my advantage. I don't have to go through with it. These chivalric types get all hot and bothered over an exposed ankle. If I flashed my tits, his head would explode." She tapped her lower lip thoughtfully. "The trick is to dangle the possibility. He doesn't have to know about the probability. Which is nil," she said, snorting with laughter.

"What are you talking about?" Rukhtorû said. Now both eyes were open, brow furrowed.

"Forming a battle plan, soldier," she said. "You fight with swords, women fight with...well, anything we can get our hands on, or whatever nature gave us. One of those blessings of nature is knowing the weaknesses of men." Her eyes twinkled with mirth.

"He said he loathed you," the orc pointed out.

"Loathing is such a mercurial emotion," Romana replied. "I promise you, if I offered him a ride on the wild Romana, he'd swear his undying love." Shrugging, she conceded, "He'd probably hate me again in the morning, but he'd be my _slave_ until dawn."

"Do you ever shut up?" Rukhtorû asked, reaching up to worry a pain beginning to form between his eyes.

"Almost never, why?" she laughed, nudging him playfully. All of a sudden, Romana straightened. "Oh my goodness. I don't even know your name."

"Rukhtorû," he grumbled. "And you are Romana. I heard."

"Excellent," she said, getting up. "Well, let's see what sort of damage I can do. You get some rest, Rukhtor. Be back in a bit."

Eyes flaring open, the orc snarled, but she was already gone before he could correct her on his name.

Striding across the courtyard, Romana headed for a group of men assessing the damage to the Deeping Wall. All three of them scowled at her approach.

"If it isn't the orc-lover," one said, curling his lip in disgust.

"Oh, now, be nice," Romana replied with a smile. "Hey, I have a question for you all. What are the odds you'd agree to me bringing him into the keep?"

They stared at her in shocked disbelief for a moment before the first one spoke again. "I would say you are mad. We would certainly _not_ agree to such a thing. Many of us died trying to keep his filth _out_."

"I know," she said seriously. "I was there. I fought by their side. The battle's over, though, and he's my prisoner, but he's going to die out here. I need to get him to where it's warm."

"Send him to hell, then," another man offered. "I hear it's warm _there_."

"Hmm, nice, thanks," she smirked.

"Tell you what," the first man said, his reasonable tone holding more than a hint of mockery, "you can bring his head into the keep. The rest of him can stay out here." The other two laughed loudly at his joke.

"Mmm, _tempting_ , but no," she said sweetly, reaching up to finger the first man's hauberk buckles. "I just thought, you know, since I have to guard him all the time, that means I have to stay out here, and well...I'd really like to play for everyone, like I did in Edoras. I'm sure the wounded would like a little song or two, to lift their spirits. Maybe a rousing chorus to celebrate our victory. That sort of thing. But...I'm stuck out here." She sighed deeply, letting her hand drop and casting a forlorn look up at the soldier.

 _Bingo_ , she thought, seeing his softened countenance, the slight lifting of his eyebrows.

"I mean, we had such a good time before marching out," she continued, moving on to the second man and straightening his already-straight tunic. "I've got a lot of songs I haven't sung yet, all about love... desire... wanting... needing..."

 _Two down_ , Romana thought with an internal smirk as the second man swallowed hard.

"My hands are so cold," she said softly to the third man, slowly wrapping her fingers around the hilt of the sword at his hip. "Much longer and I might not be able to pluck the strings."

"I'm sure...," the third man said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat. "I'm sure Boromir can be made to see reason."

"Oh, I don't want you three to get in any trouble on my account," she said, brow creased with worry. All three men fell over themselves insisting that it was no trouble. Glancing coyly from under her eyelashes, Romana thanked them warmly for their help.

 _And boom goes the dynamite_ , she thought triumphantly as the men all but scampered off to do her dirty work for her.

Sauntering back to the tent, Romana slipped inside and sat next to Rukhtorû. His eyes cracked open.

"Phase one of Plan B is complete," she chirped happily. "Opening salvo has been launched. I should be seeing Boromir thundering down here in a matter of minutes."

"What did you do?"

"The verbal equivalent of flashing my tits," she said with a grin.


	7. Enter the Dragon

Rukhtorû rolled his eyes. He'd be dead by nightfall at this rate, and not from his wounds or the cold.

He propped himself up on his elbows. Scowling, he watched as she fluffed her hair and fussed with her tunic.

"Hmmm, maybe a little peek wouldn't go amiss," she muttered. The orc's brows rose a fraction as she loosened the ties on her tunic and spread the fabric open several inches. Glancing at him, Romana grinned. "He may not like me much, but he isn't dead. This ought to get him interested."

Sneering, Rukhtorû growled, "It's just flesh."

"Ah, but it's _special_ flesh," she said. "Men have some kind of psychotic attachment to a woman's breasts. If they think they stand a chance at snuggling up to a pair, they'll do damn near anything. Mine have an added attraction." She winked.

"What?" he asked suspiciously.

"Look again," she whispered, leaning down slightly so the tunic's neckline dipped a bit.

Rukhtorû did a double-take. There was an image imprinted into her skin above her left breast that looked like a gaping maw with a serpentine tongue sticking out. Straightening, she smirked at him.

"It's a dragon, Chinese to be specific," she explained with a twinkle. "That's just its head. The rest of the body goes..." She traced a figure eight around both breasts.

He'd never seen anything like it. He had a few tattoos of his own, applied by the pitmaster to identify his location and time of birth. None of them had colors like hers. His hand darted out to clutch the front of her tunic, and he yanked her closer.

It was an accident. He certainly hadn't meant for her to tip so completely off-balance. All he wanted was to see more of the dragon. To compensate, her arms shot out, landing on the pallet on either side of him. Her mouth hit his squarely, jarring them both.

For a moment, startled yellow eyes stared into shocked brown ones. Then the brown ones closed, and the earth moved. Her lips softened against his, parting slightly. His own eyes flickered closed as waves of warmth rippled through his body. He felt her hand touch his cheek softly, then slide around to the back of his head, fingers entwining in his hair. He could no longer hold himself up, and weakly sank into the pallet.

He felt her shifting position, never halting this mysterious intimacy. She was now astride his hips, her body cleaved to his, her knees drawn up against his sides. As if on its own personal mission, his hand released its deathgrip on her tunic and slid up to hold her head. The other hand found its way to her leg, and embarked on its own journey up and over.

"Oh yeah," she murmured against his mouth, "definitely a behavior problem."

He was about to mutter a response when her tongue pushed its way past his lips, and he lost his hold on reality. A whimper escaped him. Later, he would chastise himself soundly for allowing such a pathetic noise to come forth. At the moment, he could think of nothing else except her taste, her scent, her heat, her weight upon him, her touch...

All of which abruptly disappeared as she hastily rose.

"Well," she said, standing over him and straightening her tunic, smoothing her hair. "Thanks for, uh, putting me in the mood. This'll be a hell of a lot easier now."

He stared at her, gasping for breath. Though she seemed to be unaffected by what happened, he noted with satisfaction that her hands were trembling.

"Romana!" a voice roared some distance away.

Grinning, the woman winked at Rukhtorû and said, "Phase two." Then she ducked out of the tent.

Rukhtorû took several deep breaths, calming himself down. He was obliged to do some readjustment in his breeches. A slow grin spread across his face, exposing his jagged teeth. He licked his lips, savoring the lingering taste of her. Maybe being the woman's prisoner had its benefits, he mused.

"Why, Boromir, what a pleasant surprise!"

Smirking, the orc pricked his ears to listen to this 'phase two' Romana was doing.

"Don't get smart with me. You put those men up to..."

"I don't know _what_ you're talking about. I was just having an innocent conversation..."

"Innocent! When have you _ever_ had an 'innocent' conversation!"

"Gracious me. I don't know why you're so upset..."

"Did you service them as well? In broad daylight? Out here in the courtyard?"

"Now, that's not very nice..."

"That filthy thing is _not_ getting in the keep!"

"Boromir..."

If the orc could pick up the sultry tone in her voice, he was fairly certain Boromir couldn't miss it.

"...I merely mentioned in passing how terribly cold it is out here."

"In passing."

"Just a casual comment. We lamented the fact that I can't perform for the troops. I can't leave him out here unguarded, we both know that."

"I...suppose not."

"Perhaps if I could get something to warm my bed..."

"Uh..."

"...it wouldn't be so..."

"What..."

"...bad."

"What is that?"

"What is what? Whatever are you looking at?"

"...Nothing. Nothing...What were you saying?"

"I was saying that I would like to be in the keep so I can play some music for the men. But my prisoner... I just can't leave him unguarded..."

"So... where you go, he goes."

"Yes. So if you will not let him in the keep, and you will not provide me with a means of...warming my bed... Boromir?"

"What? Oh. Uh. Right. I think... I think it would be... You can put him in a cell."

"Oh, Boromir, that would never do. His leg is in terrible shape. We may as well kill him now. No, he needs a clean, warm place to recover."

"I can't just let him walk into the main hall..."

"Would it ease your mind if he were bound? I'm quite good with ropes and knots."

"..."

"Boromir?"

"Sorry. Yes. Fine. Just...keep him out of trouble."

"Oh, he's no trouble at all. I think I frighten him."

"That is no surprise."

"As soon as we're settled in, I'll fetch my lute. Thank you so much, Boromir. You're a sweet man."

"..."

"Very...sweet."

A few minutes later, Romana entered the tent. Grinning, she licked her finger and pressed it to her ass, making a hissing sound. "I should get an Oscar."

"We go to the keep, then?"

"Oh yeah," she smirked. "I'll probably have to keep him sniffing around for a bit longer, but hey, big ass fireplace from hell, huh?"

Kneeling beside him, she tilted her head to the side, looking at him curiously. "You've never been kissed before, have you?"

"Is that what you did to me?"

"Yeah. You're a fast learner. I'm impressed. Saruman didn't screw around when he bred you."

Grunting, he laughed. "Did I please you, then?"

"Very much. You're not what I expected. Not at all."

There was something...dark...behind her eyes. A tiny crease in her brow. Fear? Uncertainty? He couldn't be sure.

"So...let's get you moving, shall we?" she said brightly, a mask of glee covering what he'd seen.


	8. Proposal

Romana slumped to the floor beside the injured Uruk, letting a long-held breath out slowly. Resting her elbows on her drawn-up knees, she rubbed her face. It was over. Finally. She was safe in the keep.

"You do not look happy," Rukhtorû observed quietly. He needn't have kept his voice down; the great hall was filled to capacity with wounded men, many of whom were groaning from various injuries. It was more likely that Romana would be joining the ranks of healers and their assistants than breaking out her lute.

"I'm thrilled," she muttered.

"We are in the keep," he pointed out. Gesturing toward the hearth that stretched across one end of the room, he added, "Fireplace from hell."

Snorting a brief laugh, Romana looked over at him. "Do you know why I tried so hard to get us here?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Humans don't like to be cold?"

"There's that," she agreed. "Mostly, though, I wanted to get away from the battlefield. Far away." She shuddered, then looked around at the rows of men. "Not that this is a whole hell of a lot better."

"Why get away?"

"You're going to think this is retarded, but I'm not altogether comfortable hanging out in the immediate vicinity of dead bodies." Movement caught her attention, and she rolled her eyes. "Christ on a bicycle, it's Boromir."

The tall Gondorian stalked between the rows and stopped in front of Romana and Rukhtorû. He dropped to one knee, nearly looking like he was going to bestow a favor on the woman. However, he didn't turn to her.

"Listen well, orc," he snarled. "It is not for your benefit that you sit here among your betters. We have more appropriate accommodations for prisoners of war that I would be happy throwing you into and losing the key. You harm _one hair_ on that woman's head, addled and misguided though it may be, and I will split you open like a pig and drag you by your guts across the floor. Do not doubt I know how to keep you alive while I do it. Do we understand each other?"

Rukhtorû glowered at the man, but said nothing. Rising, Boromir gave him one last threatening glance, nodded stiffly to Romana, and marched away.

"'Addled and misguided'?" she huffed, folding her arms over her chest. "I saved his ass, and now I'm addled? Jerk."

"Should have let him die," the Uruk snarled. "Give me a sword, and I will see to it."

"Pish," she said, waving dismissively. "What's done is done. Let his dad work it out. Though you know," she said thoughtfully, appraising the Uruk, "I can't think of a better person to trot you in front of than the Steward of Gondor. Admittedly, I only know him from stories, but I've never liked him much. Hmm...too bad I've decided not to go to Minas Tirith."

"Why would you go there?"

"Oh, it'll be the happening place here in a couple weeks. Everybody who's anybody will be there," she said, grinning. "You'll of course have thousands of men from Gondor and surrounding provinces in attendance. This lot and anyone they can shake out of the trees will be headed there in short order. _Then_ , of course, the guests of honor: Sauron's horde. Naturally, they'll bring all _their_ friends from out east. It'll be a _huge_ party."

"Battle is coming, then," he said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, pretty much the battle to almost end all battles. The one that actually ends them all won't be for another week or so afterwards." Clapping her hands together and rubbing them, she said, "The shit is poised and ready to hit the fan, my friend. The pieces are laid out on the board. But you and I will be freaking _long_ gone by then."

Rukhtorû frowned. "Stop. What are you talking about? You know what is to come?"

"Well, yeah. I know _everything_ that's happening, and what will happen." Bewildered, she said, "Didn't I mention that?"

"No, you did not," he snapped.

"Huh. Must've slipped my mind."

"Are you a seer?"

"Hell no," she scoffed. "If I were a seer, I would have been warned about you and done a better job with the knife, wouldn't I?"

"And what do you mean, we will be long gone?"

"I've been meaning to bring that up," she said cautiously. "I have...a unique proposal. Something that might intrigue you."

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Do I have a choice?"

"Of course you do," she said, surprised. "Everyone has a choice. Now listen, what would you say to a bit of travel? You know, see the world. Explore."

"You spared my life...for this?"

"Well...no, not exactly," she replied uneasily. "In all truth, I spared your life because I...just...didn't want to take it from you. Sounds kinda lame, I know. Meeting you in battle was one thing; seeing you suffering, _dying_...add to that, the king wanted us to finish off any orcs we found..." She shook her head. "That's not how I roll. Maybe you would have happily done me in, were our positions reversed, but I just...couldn't."

"You are weak," Rukhtorû sneered. "I would have slain you. Cut out your heart."

"In that order?" Romana said with a smile. "It would sound more threatening if you cut out my heart first, ate it before my eyes, _then_ killed me. If you're going for scary bastard, do it right."

"You mock me," he snarled.

"Nah," she said dismissively. "Just trying to help you out. So what do you say? When your leg's all better, we hit the road, you and me. See the world. I'll bet there's _tons_ of places you haven't been to."

"If I do not?"

"Well, the alternative is languishing in a dungeon somewhere," she replied thoughtfully. "Although, I think you're more likely to be killed than imprisoned. One thing I've noticed around here is that the people are really cranky about orcs of any persuasion. At least it's not specific, I suppose. Like, they really hate Isengarders, but the bunch up in Moria...eh, not so bad. It's pretty universal." Dropping her voice to a low register and furrowing her brow, she growled, "Orc, _bad_." Then she giggled. "Not many prospects outside of my offer. And what's awesome is that Gandalf is all for it. Okay, maybe not the travel bit because I didn't mention it to him, but the not-killing-you part, he's on board for that."

"Gandalf is the wizard, is he not?" Rukhtorû asked hesitantly.

"Yeah," she replied, nodding. "You probably noticed he looks a lot like your former master. He just got a promotion. Pretty much muscled Saruman out of his job. If you're interested, those two are not men, they're Maiar."

"Maiar? What is that?"

"Servants of the Valar. There are several Maiar floating around. A couple more wizards like them. Sauron is a Maia as well."

Rukhtorû blanched. "Saruman is...the equal of the Dark Lord?"

"I wouldn't go _that_ far," Romana said, shaking her head. "Sauron is pretty god damned powerful, more than our two wizard friends, that's for sure. After all, the Valar sent five of them here to counter him. Four, now that Saruman has thrown his hand in with the enemy."

The Uruk snorted. " _I_ am your enemy. If we were not here, if I had my sword..."

"Yeah, yeah, you'd kill me, cut out my heart, shit down my neck, blah, blah, blah," she retorted. "The fact of the matter is, you would be taking a dirt nap if I hadn't come along, and if you don't come with me, you'll _still_ be taking a dirt nap."

"Where would we be going?"

"Glad you asked," Romana crowed, digging in her pack. "I never get to go anywhere fun with these boys. It's always mines, swamps, haunted forests, and battlefields. Ah, here we are." She pulled a weather-stained map out and smoothed it on the floor between her feet. Rukhtorû leaned forward with interest.

"All right, we're here, at Helm's Deep. That bit there is Isengard, just to give you your bearings," she said, then dragged her finger westward, down the Isen to the coast. "I was thinking a seaside holiday would be nice. Ever eat lobster?"

"No, but I have eaten foolish _tarks_ ," he growled.

"Lobster's _way_ better," she replied easily. "Not sure how we'd get a hold of any, but that's a good hundred, hundred-fifty miles to come up with a plan, huh? From there, who knows? Up northward into Bree-land? Ah, man, the honeyed mead at the Prancing Pony in Bree is to _die_ for. I'm not much of a drinker, but holy crap, you'll think you died and went to heaven."

"Why me?" Rukhtorû asked, eying her up and down with a smirk. "I am not good company for a human."

"Nonsense," Romana snorted. "You just need to be properly motivated."

"Ah," he said, leering. "You will bed me, then. That would motivate me."

Romana glared at him, eyebrows arched nearly into her hairline. "I wouldn't go hanging my hat on _that_ possibility, if I were you. I figured freedom and discovery were motivation enough. Apparently I misjudged your capacity. I was under the impression that Saruman made _smarter_ orcs, not _hornier_ orcs."

"If you do not wish to mate, you should not kiss me," he snarled.

"I'll keep that in mind," she retorted. "But for the record, _you_ kissed _me_. Just so we're clear."

"You did not stop me."

"I was surprised," she said, shifting uncomfortably.

"You enjoyed it."

"Maybe. But _you_ whimpered, as I recall. Oh, stop your growling. Just admit you liked it too, and let it go. Good grief, you're as bad as a man. Pride goes before a fall, you know. Ask your master about that one."

They were interrupted by the approach of one of the healers. He curled his lip with disgust at the Uruk, but directed his attention to Romana.

"My lady, forgive my intrusion, but are you able to assist? We are short-handed here..."

"Say no more," Romana said, standing up and stretching. "I'm at your service." Turning to Rukhtorû, she said, "Give it some thought. Obviously, that leg's got to heal first, so you've got time. Just think about it." Then she followed the healer across the hall.

Rukhtorû frowned at his leg. It pained him somewhat, but seemed to be improving. Someone had sewn it properly, muscle and all, so the healing would be faster and more thorough. But he was tired. The blood loss was only beginning to recede as a factor in his overall weakness, now that he was eating decent rations, getting plenty of water, and bedding down in a warm, dry, clean place. His strength was returning rapidly, which was a relief. He didn't much like being so helpless in a hall filled with his enemies, and he with no weapons or means of defense.

Still, it could be worse. He wasn't entirely sure what a 'dirt nap' was, but he could guess it had something to do with being dead. That was something he did not wish to be at the moment. Not with the memory of her kiss still haunting his thoughts. Yes, he had enjoyed the sensation, coupled with his inexplicable submission to her. To be submissive in any context was abhorrent to him, yet for some reason, with the woman, it had been a natural position to take, and had certainly encouraged her to let the experience go on far longer than the Uruk would have expected.

And it felt good. There was no denying that.


	9. Who Wrote the Book of Love?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ladies and gentlemen, it's time now for "Name That Tune"! Enjoy the trip through my iPod! Answers at the bottom. :-D

"I thought I might find you here," Boromir said softly.

Romana glanced over her shoulder, then returned her gaze to the mist-shrouded battlefield far below.

"It's more romantic in poems," she commented. "When they die in your arms."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know he meant that much to you." His voice was strained.

"I'm not a whore, Boromir," she replied coldly. "I don't share my bed with just anyone, no matter what you seem to think."

"You knew him less than a day..."

"Sometimes, that can seem like a lifetime." Sighing deeply, she turned and faced him. "I didn't love him, but I cared about him. I didn't want to see him die."

"You should honor Ormr's memory by slaying that orc," he snarled.

Bemused, she cocked her head. "Really? For what? Odds are he was nowhere near when Ormr was struck."

"What does _that_ matter? He's an orc. An orc killed your lover."

Shaking her head, she returned her gaze to the field. "You're an idiot."

"I would do it," he asserted. "If you...if someone I cared about was harmed, killed, I would seek vengeance."

"Have a ball," she said, gesturing toward the smoking piles of bodies littering the field. "When you figure out which one did it, give him an extra kick for me."

"There's no need," Boromir insisted. "I believe a satisfactory substitute is much closer to hand."

Turning a baleful gaze at the man, Romana snarled, "Touch _one hair_ on his head, and I just might try that whole 'dragging by the guts' thing you promised him."

He sneered. "When will you learn how things work here?"

"When will _you_ stop holding people responsible for things they didn't do?" Turning to face him once more, she went on, "I don't blame him for anything. It's not Rukhtor's fault Ormr died. Even if he _was_ the one who split him open, there was a battle going on, if you didn't notice. Soldiers do what they have to do, what they're _supposed_ to do, in a fight."

Shaking her head, she said, "Not even Rukhtor's shoulders are broad enough to bear the sins of _all_ his people. Would you hold Ormr responsible for the wrongs the Eorlingas have committed against the Dunlendings, or the Drúedain for that matter?"

"You would...forgive the orc. For what happened to Ormr, to all those men, to their people."

Giving him a pitying look, Romana said, "If there is no capacity for forgiveness, there is no hope for peace. Not for anyone." Turning away, she walked back into the keep, leaving Boromir to his troubled thoughts.

* * *

Rukhtorû drifted awake to the sound of a stringed instrument being played not far away. He hadn't even realized he dozed off.

_***When the day is long and the night, the night is yours alone, when you're sure you've had enough of this life, well hang on. Don't let yourself go, everybody cries and everybody hurts...sometimes.***_

Her voice. He had forgotten how soft and gentle it could be, when not jesting or prattling on about meaningless frivolities. Pleasant, yet it carried across the large hall, undoubtedly heard by all ears, not just his. He could see many faces turned in her direction, some peaceful in spite of injuries Rukhtorû could tell must be painful, even from his vantage point.

Romana sat on a table, feet propped on a bench, with a lute resting on her lap. Her hair swayed like curtains on either side of her face as she frequently bowed her head to watch her fingers fly expertly over the strings. Sometimes, she tapped her foot to keep time.

The Uruk could feel his body relaxing as the music washed over him. Even his own wounds did not seem to ache as much. Tilting his head to the side, he focused on Romana's face as she sang, noted the husky quality of her voice enhancing the nature of the words.

_***If you feel like you're alone, no, no, no, you are not alone. If you're on your own in this life, the days and nights are long, when you think you've had too much of this life to hang on...***_

He could almost imagine that there was true pain in her heart. Soon after drifting to the end of her first song, she began another.

*** _While I am far away from you, my baby, I know...it's hard for you, my baby. Because it's hard for me, my baby...and the darkest hour is just before the dawn***_

The Uruk had never heard such music as this. Though he would likely not recognize an elven song if he heard it either, he was given to understand their music told stories of events long past. Orc songs told of blood, battle, death. They did not allow the singers or the listeners to rest.

_***And when I go away, I know my heart can stay with my love. It's understood. It's in the hands of my love. And my love does it good***_

Was this the nature of the weak human failing called love? Rukhtorû narrowed his eyes, sneering in contempt. His glare took in the expressions of the men around him. He could not understand how they drew strength from such a crippling emotion.

"One last song," Romana said at the end. "It's getting late and you boys need some sleep. I promise this won't disappoint." Grinning, she struck some soft chords and began anew.

_***I was lost 'til you were found_  
 _But I never knew how far down_  
 _I was fallin' before I reached the bottom***_

There was something different about this one, Rukhtorû noticed. To begin with, her voice grew in intensity and passion. The Uruk could almost feel the strength of it pounding him in the chest. Then she calmed, her voice pulling him in with words that were hauntingly familiar, as if they could have come from his own mouth.

_***I was damned and you were saved_  
 _And I never knew how enslaved I_  
 _was kneeling In the chains of my master***_

This was not like those intangible notions her other songs belabored. These were feelings he could understand. Her voice echoed powerfully through the hall, stirring the Uruk's heart, among other things.

_***For comin' to my room when you know I'm alone_  
 _For findin' me a highway and drivin' me home_  
 _You gotta know for that I serve you***_

As her song reached a crescendo, her voice took on an impassioned, snarling quality, a guttural growling that wrenched an answering rumble from deep inside him. Startled, he clamped down hard on the sound, flicking his eyes around. None nearby were paying him any mind, focused as they were on the woman. The force of her voice nailed him to the wall, reverberating among the rafters.

_***When you're crying out loud_  
 _You know I love you***_

There was silence for a few seconds as her last words echoed through the hall. Then those men who could, applauded. They roared their approval. Romana ducked her head to hide her shy smile as she descended the makeshift stage to sit down beside Rukhtorû. Gradually, the men settled down for the night, though a low murmur of appreciative voices could still be heard.

"That is how your people celebrate victory?"

"Don't pout, Rukhtor, it's unbecoming," she said without heat.

Scowling, he snarled, "My name _is not_ Rukhtor. It is Rukhtorû. Rukhtor _û_!"

Glancing at him, she gave him an indulgent look. "Geez, one little 'ooo'. What the hell difference does it make?"

"It makes a difference," he growled. "Say my name right or do not say it at all."

"Okay, sure. Whatever." Shaking her head, she busied herself with packing her lute in a protective cloth case. Unable to stand it anymore, she turned to him. "All right, what does your name even mean?"

Sneering, he said, "In the man's tongue, it means 'dangerous horror'."

Arching her eyebrows, she asked, "And without the 'ooo'?"

His scowl deepened. Looking away, he muttered, " _Lovely_ horror."

A titter escaped her, and he shot her a filthy look. She suppressed her mirth and plastered a serious expression on her face. "I can see where that would upset you." Her grin could not be contained for long, nor could her teasing manner. "It probably sucked in high school. I'll bet your friends made fun of your name all the time."

"I do not know 'high school.' I have no friends. Any who 'made fun' of my name, I tore their tongues out."

"Someone has anger management issues," she commented.

"I will not change my ways, no matter what...rewards...you offer," he growled.

Chuckling, she playfully nudged his shoulder with her own. "Wouldn't dream of it. Goodness, a girl could search for years and never find a man like you. Such a catch."

He slowly turned his head to glare at her. "Sarcasm?"

Her eyes twinkled, her smile teasing. "Maybe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are from the following songs:
> 
> "Everybody Hurts" by R.E.M.  
> "Dedicated to the One I Love" by The Mamas and the Papas  
> "My Love" by Paul McCartney & Wings  
> "For Crying Out Loud" by Meatloaf


	10. Decision Time: Mankind vs. Twinkie

Rukhtorû tucked his hands behind his head and stared at the timbered ceiling of the hall. All around him were the smells of blood and infection, overwhelmed by the enticing scent of man-flesh. He licked his sharp teeth, remembering the last time he tasted it. Glancing over, he saw Romana fussing with her pillow and blanket. Then she pulled something brown out of her pack. Snuggling down into her blanket, she tucked the thing under her chin and settled in.

It looked like a bizarre likeness of an animal. Rukhtorû's brow furrowed. Her eyes met his in the shadows.

"What is that thing?" he growled softly.

"Teddy bear," she replied, then grinned. "You should have seen the look on the elf's face when I told her what I wanted."

"An elf made it?" he sneered. "Keep it away from me, then."

"Jealous?" she taunted, winking. "If anyone looked like they needed a snuggle bear, it's you."

He gave her a withering look and returned his gaze upward.

"Suit yourself," she muttered.

The general quiet of the hall was only occasionally broken by an injured soldier's groan of pain, or the snuffling snore of a sleeping Rider. Rukhtorû couldn't seem to find sleep, though he was certainly weary. He lay there for what must have been an hour when he heard a whimper beside him.

Rolling his head to the side, he looked curiously at Romana. In her sleep, she was shivering as if from a chill, though the hall was fairly warm. Her face was contorted with fear. Frowning, Rukhtorû noted how tightly she clutched her bear, how her knees were drawn up, her body forming a ball. One hand abandoned the toy and waved clumsily, as if to ward off an assailant. The Uruk was even more startled to see tears streaming down her face as she bit down hard enough on her lower lip to draw a few beads of blood. All of a sudden, her eyes popped open, and she stared at Rukhtorû without recognition.

"Romana," he whispered, uncertain. Turning on his side carefully, he tilted his head.

She recoiled from him for a moment, and he was almost sure she would scream. Then she blinked a few times as memory flooded back. Covering her mouth with her hand, she seemed to fight against the urge to cry out. To his surprise, she tossed the bear aside and climbed onto his pallet with him, taking care not to disturb his injured side as she embraced him.

He didn't know what to do. She trembled against him, gripped his body hard, and wept on his shoulder. Unsure, he patted her back. After a few minutes, she calmed down, and drew back some to look at him. He painted a scowl on his face.

"Sorry," she muttered, and retreated to her own pallet.

"You dreamed," he said quietly, relaxing again. "What about?"

"The battle," she whispered, and the memory cast a shadow over her face. "A berserker. Charged at me." A shudder ran through her, and her voice shook. "He was bigger than you. Covered in wounds. Thirty, maybe forty arrows sticking out of him. All over. They didn't even slow him down. And he roared. So loud." She covered her ears as if she could still hear it. "I forgot, until now. There were so many others. So many of you." Shaking her head, she closed her eyes. A slight smile curved her lips. "You're not a very friendly bunch."

"You should apologize," he snarled. "I remember you said our strategy was flawed. 'Waving our dicks in the air,' you said. You still feel fear."

Glaring at him, Romana huffed. "Anyone would. _You_ did. When you were feverish, after Aragorn sewed you up, you said all kinds of things in that grunting language of yours. I swear, it sounded like you were begging."

His expression grew more angry. "I am Fighting Uruk-hai," he growled. "I do not _beg_."

"Maybe not when you're awake," she allowed with a shrug. "But when you're dreaming, you don't have any more control than I did." Retrieving her bear, she pulled the blanket back over herself and lay down. "You said things like 'nar' and 'ulb'. I think you said 'nûl' a few times. In case you're interested." She deliberately turned her back to him. "And 'ashûk'. You said that over and over again." [no, blue, pain, alone]

Rukhtorû slowly eased himself onto his back. He didn't know how to react. The words she recalled...

Yes, there _were_ some things he was afraid of. Her blue blade, for one. It had burned him, caused a great deal of pain that was relentless and unending until she pulled it from his body. The last word she recalled, however... that was a surprise. Had he imagined himself alone, without the Voice of his master for reassurance? Or had he felt the absence of his brothers, lying dead all around him?

Well, he was certainly not alone now, surrounded by his enemies, cursed to be the travel companion of one...

No. That was not true. It was not a curse. There came to his mind the kiss. The teasing looks. The playful little touches. And now, she had sought him out for comfort in her fear. He wondered if he had embraced her in return, there might have been another kiss shared between them. The thought brought a smile to his lips, sent a shiver of pleasure through his body.

Sleep eluded Romana as well, now that she had seen what lurked there. How had she forgotten that orc, bearing down on her, waving a great two-handed sword, bellowing in rage? The memory was so clear now. Only the deadly point of a spear thrown past her, piercing the monster through the center of his chest, had halted the berserker's charge.

So what was compelling her so strongly to join forces with an orc, leave the protection of other humans, go to places where there would be no aid? Insanity, that's what. That, and knowing all her friends were tied to the war so completely that haring off to some distant land was out of the question.

Ah, she thought, there it is. The orc is conveniently available, his people slaughtered, his master dethroned. If given the choice of life or death, he would have to be a fool to choose death, and that was likely what awaited him if he turned down her offer. A thread of worry ran through her, wondering what Theoden's reaction was likely to be when he and Gandalf returned from their visit to Isengard and found the orc in the keep. The king had certainly given her a rather pitying look when the party left, as if she were afflicted with a brain injury or something. And Legolas... wow, he really stepped up the filthy looks _that_ time. Rolling her eyes, Romana dismissed the elf without a second thought. Let him flounce off to the Grey Havens if he didn't like it. If he truly wanted to have any damned opinion on the matter of Rukhtorû, he and his people could try living _in_ the world instead of working overtime to leave it.

Fuming as she often did when thinking of that pompous princeling, Romana tried once again to get some sleep. The sound of Rukhtorû's steady breathing, rumbling in his chest like a well-tuned engine, was comforting if slightly amusing. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that sleep had finally taken the orc unawares. His lips were slightly parted; one hand rested over his bandaged ribs, the other was tucked under his head.

Even though she should've gotten her fill of looking at him when he was unconscious, Romana rolled onto her side and gazed at him some more. It was truly amazing to her, how different he looked when asleep. The harsh lines of his face smoothed, the scowl receded. He no longer resembled a beast on the hunt, but a dark-skinned man with a few...beast-like features. There was definitely a huge difference between the Uruk-hai and the orcs she'd encountered in Moria, none of whom seemed to her in any way related to humans. To her shame, that made it easier to strike them down.

Sitting up, Romana wondered, not for the first time, what her father would think of all this. The man was a military scholar. He got over his initial disappointment in the birth of a daughter once he came to the realization that a girl could like battle lore as much as a boy, if raised correctly. Smiling to herself, she remembered how each summer's backyard theme so entranced her. One year it was a scaled replica of the Battle of Gettysburg. She actually beat her father's Army of the Potomac by a slim margin through the simple expedience of defying history and taking Cemetery Hill over by the swing set. When challenged, she just shrugged and said, "If it had been _me_ , I would have done what Lee told me to do."

Then there had been the naval battles in the pool, most notably the Battle of Salamis that sunk several inflatables and incurred the wrath of her mother who was attempting to even out her tan at the time. In retrospect, Romana thought it was probably unwise to declare the float her mother was sunning on as the Persian fleet.

She had to laugh. When she started reading Tolkien's works, she tried to get her dad to do up the backyard battlefield like the Pellenor Fields, but he'd scoffed and haughtily informed her that he didn't consider a fictional battle worthy of such an honor.

Little did he know...

Sighing, Romana laid back down and hugged her bear some more. She missed them, missed her home...maybe not her dead-end job, but lots of other things. Like Twinkies. She would sell Frodo to the Dark Lord for some Hostess snack cakes right about now. Or chocolate. Definitely for chocolate. Yes, she would happily slip the Ring onto Sauron's finger herself if he gave her some Hershey bars in return.

Okay, maybe not. Even _she_ wasn't as depraved as that. Although, admittedly, she was apparently depraved enough to kiss an orc. And like it. She could feel the blush heating up her face just thinking about it. As if on its own, her mind ticked over, swiftly calculating, trying to figure out how to have another go at Rukhtorû. _That_ was disturbing.


	11. Men and Elves and Orcs, Oh My!

"Looking good," Romana said, nodding with satisfaction. "Thanks." She patted the healer's shoulder as he secured a clean bandage around Rukhtorû's leg injury.

The man shook his head in wonder. "I have not seen such swift recovery from so grievous a wound. Though the Dúnedan is truly gifted in the healing arts, not even _he_ possesses such skill as this."

"Maybe Rukhtor's just a fast healer," she suggested, ignoring the Uruk's annoyed growl. She smirked at him.

"That could be," the man allowed. "I have never treated an orc before. There is much I do not know."

"Feel free to poke and prod all you like," Romana said cheerfully. "He's really a sweetheart. Don't let his crabby mood fool you."

Rukhtorû scowled. Morning had brought more annoyances, for the lightly wounded were being transported to Edoras. A great deal of fuss and bother ensued as men were carried out and those remaining were moved to close ranks, making it easier for the healers to care for them. None showed any interest in the Uruk, either to move him or see to his injuries, until Romana collared a passing healer and dragged him over.

And now she was back to mispronouncing his name. Rukhtorû gave up after awhile; it was obvious she only did it to irritate him.

When the healer left, Romana sat next to him and watched the activity going on around them. They were more alone now that several men in their vicinity had either been taken away or moved to the other side of the hall.

"How's the leg feel?" she asked.

"Better," he grunted, absently rubbing it.

"Have you thought about my offer?"

"A bit."

"And?"

He didn't answer for a moment. A grin slowly marched across his face. "How badly do you want my company?"

Raising an eyebrow, she focused a questioning look at him. "I'm open to negotiations."

"Show me the dragon," he leered. "Then I will come."

Romana stifled a laugh. "You just might, at that," she joked, a giggle sneaking out.

At first he didn't understand her reply, then he got it. His grin broadened. "That is my price. Take it or leave it."

"Just that? A peek at my tattoo?"

"Whenever I wish to see it," he added. No sense in pledging his life for one fleeting glimpse.

"Uh huh," she said, smirking and nodding. "Just like a man." Sighing deeply, she asked, "Eyes not hands?"

"What?"

"Look without touching. You'll keep your hands to yourself, right?"

"If that is your wish." His expression clearly said he assumed her wishes on the matter were likely to change in his favor.

"Right," she said, not believing a word of it. Romana had an inkling about what may interest her after awhile in his company.

At the other end of the hall, the great doors opened. Curious, both Romana and Rukhtorû looked up. Boromir entered, deep in conversation with two elves who bore a striking resemblance to one another.

"Fuck me in the ass," Romana breathed, then rose hastily to her feet. "Stay here," she commanded unnecessarily, then strode across the floor to meet the newcomers.

Rukhtorû didn't understand the reason for the statement, but the image that leaped to mind was certainly arousing. Somehow, he didn't think she meant it as an invitation, though.

"God, I hope you're here to see Aragorn," Romana growled as she approached the small party.

"Indeed, that was our original purpose," one of the dark-haired elves said coolly. "Boromir has just related a most fascinating tale, wouldn't you say, brother?" He turned to his twin.

"Fascinating," the other agreed. Tilting his head to one side, he regarded the seething woman with interest. "You must be Romana, the one who captured the beast."

"That would be me, yes, and he's not a beast," she snapped. "How about you boys toddle off to the courtyard and wait for Aragorn's return? I'm sure he'll be along in no time."

"We wouldn't dream of squandering such an opportunity as this," the first one said.

"Opportunity...for what?" she asked suspiciously. Her eyes flicked to Boromir, noting his smug expression. "Rat bastard," she snarled in an undertone.

"Elladan and Elrohir are here on a most urgent matter that has nothing to do with your... pet," the man said. "I merely thought they might find his presence... interesting."

"Do introduce us," the first one said. There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Which one are you?" Romana snapped.

Raising his eyebrow, he said, "Elladan, of course."

"Of course," she smirked, then led the way to the corner she shared with the Uruk.

As the group approached, Romana made a motion with her hand as of cutting her own throat. Rukhtorû stared at her, uncomprehending. He was more concerned about the strong stench of _golug_ that wafted into his nostrils. Snorting with disgust, he glared at the elves with open hostility. Their expressions were little different as they looked down at him.

"Everybody _sit_ ," Romana snarled, demonstrating. "You're not looking down your noses at anyone."

Reluctantly, as if that was exactly their intention, the elves sat on the floor before the Uruk. Romana positioned herself at Rukhtorû's side, folded her arms over her chest, and crossed her legs at the ankles as she leaned back against the wall.

"Rukhtorû," she said, jerking her head toward the Uruk. "This is Elladan and Elrohir. Sons of Elrond. Don't worry about which one's which. Of course you know Boromir already." She paused for a moment. "There, you've been introduced. Happy now?"

The twins made no effort to hide their disgust from the Uruk. Elrohir looked like he was only a hair's breadth from tearing Rukhtorû's heart out with his bare hands.

"Immeasurably so," Elladan said quietly. "Boromir informs us that you protect this creature, that you found him on the battlefield and took him prisoner." His gaze flicked over the orc momentarily. "He does not appear to be restrained, as one would expect of a prisoner taken in battle."

"My overwhelming personality keeps him in check," Romana said smoothly. "I could tie him up, if that would make you feel better."

"Only to free him once we have departed," Elrohir interjected. "Is what Boromir says true? _Do_ you intend to travel with this... orc?"

"Perhaps. We're still negotiating the finer points of the agreement," she replied, glancing at Rukhtorû with a wink. "Don't you even _begin_ to offer your 'wisdom' on the matter."

"You are being insufferably rude, Romana," Boromir warned. "Have a care; you were not nearly so discourteous when conversing with their father."

Casting a withering look at the man, Romana said, "I had no reason to. Now, I'm in a completely different position."

"I see no change to your 'position,'" Elladan said. "You remain an anomalous figure in our world, your presence unexplainable even by the Wise. Now we learn that your inexperience with our ways have blinded you to what is before your eyes."

"I see _elves_ before me at the moment," she snapped. "Elves who are falling over themselves to get out of Dodge before things get too rough."

"That is not why we seek the Undying Lands," Elrohir snarled. "It is our birthright. We are drawn thither."

"How convenient," she sneered.

Rukhtorû was thoroughly baffled by Romana's apparent disdain for the elves. Not that he disagreed with her on the matter, of course. If her gesture earlier indicated her desire for him to hold his tongue, he might advise the same thing of her at this point. The _golug-hai_ , after all, did not wish to spill _her_ blood.

"We will not defend the choices of our people," Elladan said, motioning for his brother to stand down.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, for even Romana could tell when she was overdoing it, she tilted her head to the side and said, "All right, let's assume that you _do_ give a rat's ass what happens in Middle Earth. Let's imagine for a moment that you have any say in the decisions of the luckless bastards who've been handed your unfinished business and have to clean up the mess. What would be your priceless advice, hmmm? What delightful bit of wisdom would you grace us with? Don't be shy, gentlemen. I'm all ears."

Just because she knew when she was overdoing it didn't mean she'd stop while she was ahead.

Elladan's expression was stony; Elrohir's, disgusted. Boromir bowed his head and rubbed his eyes, already weary though it was early morning. Rukhtorû decided he'd rather enjoy this moment than worry about being killed. His grin was smug and rather malicious.

Pursing his lips, Elladan said softly, "Do I truly need to provide a list of all the atrocities committed by their race?"

"Do I need to counter with their point of view on the matter? I'm sure Rukhtorû here has a few choice gems up his sleeve to share." Leaning forward slightly and lowering her voice, she hissed, "If you want _my_ cooperation, you'd damn well better have a water-tight argument that can't be refuted by anyone else's eyewitness account."

Leaning back, Romana arched an eyebrow expectantly.

"Hmph," Boromir snorted. "I like you better when you use softer methods."

"I only do that when my opposition is weak," she said without taking her eyes off the elves. Still, she smirked, seeing Boromir's indignation out of the corner of her eye. "Carry on, Elladan. I'm waiting."

The elf's eyes darted between Romana and Rukhtorû. The orc certainly looked like he had a few anecdotes in mind and was impatient for the cue to deliver them. For a moment, some of Elladan's deeds came uncomfortably back to him, along with the question – was it too much?

Forcing the image of his mother into his mind as she had appeared when he and his brother found her, Elladan steeled himself and glared at the woman. "Why don't you explain to _us_ what use you see in the orc. Tell us what you think will come of sharing his company in the wilds."

Smiling humorlessly, Romana said, "Oh, a little of this, a little of that. I expect there will be copious snogging. Maybe a little necking. I'm sure someone's going to get felt up at some point." Amusement slid into her expression as the elves and man made various attempts at interpreting her unfamiliar phrases, and found those that came to mind extremely distasteful. Rukhtorû, on the other hand, liked the ideas that came to _his_ mind, and his leering grin showed it.

"I'm going to be sick," Elrohir said quietly, covering his mouth and wincing.

"Good god," Romana said, rolling her eyes with exasperation. "You have _no_ sense of humor, but admirably dirty minds. Bless you both." She paused to grin at them. "None of that is on the table, for heaven's sake. I chose him because he's the only one around whose days of fighting are behind him. Everyone else is marching off to war, and I've had enough of it. It's as simple as that."

"Is it?" Elladan said. "Let us assume, then, that you _do_ take this...orc...with you in your travels. Let us...imagine... that he does not exploit your innocence at every opportunity."

"Goodness, you make it sound so...nasty," she smirked, shivering in an exaggerated manner. Elladan raised his eyebrows at her obvious dismissal.

"They are vicious, brutal, and depraved. They torture and defile women they have captured. They take pleasure in the suffering they cause. They know _nothing_ but hatred of all things. And you wish to sightsee with one of them?" he demanded incredulously.

Rukhtorû was beginning to get annoyed, being spoken about as if he wasn't in the room, or couldn't understand what was said. It was insulting, especially since he didn't believe most of it applied to him. Not anymore. Not since the Voice was silenced. Strangely, the _golug_ 's accusations didn't cause much of a response, other than irritation. He certainly entertained a few images of the woman, but those visions were of her consenting to his advances, not of him forcing himself upon her. It was much more satisfying to think of her wanting it. Wanting _him_. He leveled a sneer at the _golug-hai_ , her willing kiss in his mind, the _golug-hai_ revolted at the thought. Very satisfying indeed.

"Oh, do stop," she said wearily. "I'm not retarded. As a matter of fact, he..."

Her words died as the doors opened once more. The man the elves had come to see strode in, looking worn out. In his wake were the king of Rohan and Gandalf the White, Gimli and Legolas, and the small forms of Merry and Pippin.

Seeing the seated figures, Theoden winced and shook his head. Aragorn just sighed heavily. The halfllings looked apprehensive, and glanced at Gandalf, who appeared slightly bemused. The awkward silence was broken by the dwarf's thunderous voice as he turned to the elf prince in triumph.

"Durin's Beard, lad, I was right! Pay up!"


	12. Oops, I Did It Again

"Ah, hell," Romana groaned, ducking her head and covering it with both arms. Boromir rose and hastened to greet the members of the Fellowship, and offer sincere apologies to Theoden. The king waved him aside and strode to the seated group. Like a teenager about to be ripped a new one by an angry parent for totaling the family car, Romana stood and faced her fate with bowed head. Elladan and Elrohir also stood and bowed respectfully to the king.

Rukhtorû merely raised the knee of his good leg and extended his arm to rest upon it casually. His gaze flicked to the halflings, and his eyes narrowed. They couldn't take their eyes off him either, and shifted nervously under his scrutiny.

"How about if we cut to the chase," Romana suggested, rubbing her hands together. "I talked Boromir into letting me bring the orc into the keep. It's not his fault he's a wimp."

"I am _not_ a wimp!" the man roared, then appealed to Theoden. "She reminded me she could aid the healing with her music, and I thought it advisable..."

"You were swayed by a flash of cleavage," she translated, beginning to enjoy herself, "and didn't even know what you were agreeing to until it was over."

"Be still!" the king bellowed, silencing them both. "Gandalf warned me of what may greet us on our return. I confess I doubted your... tenacity. Now that he is here, it is water under the bridge." Turning to the wizard, he said, "I leave this matter in your hands, Mithrandir. And you, Romana," he said, leveling his stern gaze at her, "I hope I do not need to point out that his behavior reflects on you. If I hear of any disruption where he is the cause, you will be punished along with him. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes, sir," Romana replied meekly. The king left to inquire after the health of the wounded men in the hall.

"Estel," Elrohir said, stepping forward and clasping the ranger's hand. "It is good to see you again. We have much to discuss." With that, the twins hastened away with Aragorn in tow.

"Hey," Romana said in a low voice, nodding at Gimli. "How much?"

Smirking at Legolas, the dwarf said, "Ten silver."

"Really? I find your lack of faith...disturbing," she said with a grin. "Should have wagered more. This _is_ Boromir we're talking about." Turning to Merry and Pippin, Romana finally gave in and pulled them both into a fierce hug. "I am _so_ glad to see you two!"

Still keeping wary eyes on the Uruk, the hobbits returned her hug with enthusiasm.

Romana released the hobbits and looked them over critically. "You guys all right?"

Pippin shrugged. "Better than we were. Treebeard took care of us, after..." He shot a significant look at the Uruk. "I didn't believe Gandalf. How could you...?"

Kneeling so she could look them in the eye, Romana said gently, "I know you had a rough time, guys. Really, I do. And I'm sorry about this..." She gestured rather helplessly at Rukhtorû. "I had my reasons."

"We know," Merry said stiffly. The look he gave the Uruk wasn't exactly hateful, but it wasn't altogether friendly, either. "Gandalf prepared us as much as he could."

"You know, I kind of figured facing _you_ with this would be the hardest," she mused, offering a wan half-smile. "If it's any consolation, he's been... kind of... decent, since Saruman was defeated. Decent as orcs go, anyway. Evidently, Saruman couldn't leave well enough alone and had to poke around in their heads. Without him pestering him all the time, well...," she said, shrugging.

"I hope you don't expect us to believe he's become as gentle as a lamb," Merry said crossly.

"Oh, good heavens, no!" Romana cried with a laugh. "No, he's still a naughty little orc. That much isn't going to change. But, if you think about it, he's really no more dangerous than any of us. I mean, you would still consider Aragorn a nice man, right? Even after seeing him kill a whole bunch of orcs?" She arched an eyebrow at them.

Startled by the question, the hobbits looked at each other, then at the Uruk. Taken in that context, the Uruk seemed more like a rough man on leave from a military base, rather than a slavering beast with a taste for man-flesh.

"We are _all_ animals," she said pointedly. "Some of us are just a bit wilder than others." She jerked her head toward Rukhtorû with a wink and smiled. "So did Saruman cry like a little girl when Treebeard dropped a water balloon on his house?"

"He was _furious_!" Pippin crowed.

"Excellent."

"Wormtongue threw something out the window, too," Pippin went on. "It was..."

"It was a none-of-your-damn-business, that's what it was," Romana said sternly. "Don't you remember what that elf-guy said way back when? Something about not meddling in wizard affairs or whatever. You might want to think about that."

"Indeed," Gandalf said wryly.

"Well, you sly dog, I forgot you were there!" Romana said with amusement. "Set yourself down and tell me how much fun it was to give Saruman the finger!"

"What 'finger' is that?" Legolas asked as he, Gimli, Gandalf, Boromir, and the hobbits all sat in a semi-circle around Romana and Rukhtorû. The Uruk didn't look entirely comfortable, being surrounded like that.

"This one," she chirped, demonstrating with unnecessary enthusiasm. "Figuratively, of course. I really wish I could have seen that."

"There was not much to see," the elf said wearily. He made a point of not looking at the Uruk, yet his words were clearly intended for Rukhtorû's ears. "The valley was flooded. There were so many dead orcs floating about, you could easily walk from the forest eaves to the foot of the tower without getting your feet wet."

Beside her, the Uruk stiffened, glaring at Legolas. Then he shot an angry look at Romana. Seeing his furious expression, she shifted uncomfortably.

"Um...yeah. About that. Remember when I found you? I told you the trees back home were pissed at your master? Well..." She shrugged helplessly. "It's, uh, quite possible you're... you're the only Uruk left. Maybe."

He blinked at her, then looked at each of the others' faces in turn, searching for someone's wink, telling him it was a joke.

"That may not be so," Gandalf said. "Treebeard said some may have slipped away. There may also have been a few more mobile survivors of the battle who escaped the Huorns' wrath."

"May have?" Rukhtorû snarled. It was the first time many of them had heard him speak, and they were taken aback by the rough, guttural sound of his voice. Merry and Pippin, however, had had their fill of Uruk-hai voices, and winced as memories flooded back. Glaring at Romana, he roared, "You knew of this! You... saw it coming!"

"Hey, calm down!" Romana cried, shifting to face him. "There wasn't anything I could do. Saruman brought it on himself."

"It is not my Master who is _dead_!" the Uruk barked.

"What do you want _me_ to do? Bring them all back?"

"Do you have that power as well?"

"No, I was being facetious."

"Then _shut the fuck up!_ "

"Well, didn't _you_ just wake up on the wrong side of the keep this morning!"

"How could I sleep with you crawling all over me?"

"Oh, you _didn't_ just go there, _Rukhtor_."

" _That is not my name!_ "

"You bet your ass, it isn't. There's nothing pretty about _you!_ "

"Ha! Then why do you call me that? You have also called me 'handsome'."

"You are _so_ full of yourself! I most certainly did _not!_ "

"I remember, and you did. Do not lie, do not deny it. You think me handsome."

"Conceited, egotistical, and completely out of your mind, but handsome? No."

"May I interject?"

Both Romana and Rukhtorû turned to the wizard with surprise. They'd completely forgotten they had an audience, and now looked at the shocked faces all around.

"Uh... yeah," Romana said sheepishly. "Feel free."

"It would seem you and... Rukhtorû, is it? You and Rukhtorû have developed a rather... unique relationship. I find it intriguing."

"Hmph," Boromir snorted. "It is the same when she speaks with _me._ "

"Ah, but you are not an orc," Gandalf pointed out. "I would have expected blood to be spilled by now, wouldn't you?"

"I do not want to," Rukhtorû growled petulantly, subdued now that he was reminded of the wizard's presence.

"I rather hope not," Gandalf replied mildly. "She has tended your wounds and cared for you at great risk to herself. It would be most ungrateful to repay her with violence."

"He said he doesn't hear Saruman's voice in his head anymore," Romana said. "Apparently the rotten bastard thought it would get the job done faster if he nagged."

"I find it difficult to believe," Legolas sniffed. "It has never been _my_ experience that orcs required urging to commit atrocities."

" _It has never been_ _ **my**_ _experience blah blah blah_ ," Romana mocked. "Boat's waiting, Leggo-my-Eggo. Don't let the door hit you on the ass."

Seething, the elf turned to Gandalf. "Must I continue to endure her insufferable childishness?"

"Not for much longer, nancy-boy," she smirked. "I've got places to go, things to see, and not a damn one of them is in Gondor."

"Thank the Valar," Boromir grumbled.

"And I was _so_ looking forward to meeting your dad," she said sarcastically. "The history books just went _on_ and _on_ about what a fine, upstanding gentleman he was."

"I have heard enough," Boromir snarled, then stood and stomped out of the keep.

"Yeh go too far, Romana," Gimli admonished as he followed Legolas out the door as well.

"Romana," Gandalf said sternly. "What has come over you?"

"I have kept my mouth shut for _months_ , listening to those two and their phenomenally pompous attitudes," she hissed, leaning forward. "They're complete asses. When the history books were written, the writers totally glossed over what dicks they are. I'm thinking money changed hands or something."

"History books," Rukhtorû said hollowly. "You know of these things... from history books."

"Yes," she said absently. "In any case, if I'm out of the picture, fewer things will change. Like, total dickweeds who were supposed to die will get the opportunity." She rolled her eyes.

"Do you truly wish that?" Gandalf asked. "Is your hate so powerful that..."

"No, no, I'm sorry," Romana said, shaking her head. "I'm just... wound up. I just had to put up with Elrond's boys a bit ago, and they were being... Well, you know how I feel about elves."

"You showed Elrond the proper respect," the wizard said. "And I do believe you got along well with his daughter."

"Yes, well, _some_ elves don't suck, and they, at least, are committed to seeing this thing through."

"Do you not recall that it was Isildur who failed to destroy the Ring? It was not an elf who left 'unfinished business' for Men to deal with."

"Details," she said with a shrug.

"Romana..."

"Okay! All right! It's not the elves' fault, and they can't help being big pusses and running off to their little heaven on earth instead of _helping_. Not their fault. Got it." She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.

"And if I am not mistaken," Gandalf continued, "Elladan and Elrohir have come to our aid."

He was using that tone again, and Romana squirmed. "All right," she said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"It is not _me_ to whom you should apologize."

"All right!" she snapped, then stood up. "I'm going, I'm going."

"Boromir as well."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she grumbled as she left the hall in a huff.

"You've lost none of your style," Pippin commented with a grin.

Nodding to the hobbit, he then turned to Rukhtorû. The Uruk cringed slightly under his piercing gaze, though the wizard made no effort to seem threatening. "Now then. Has Romana said what will happen to you when she leaves us?"

Now it was Rukhtorû's turn to squirm. "She... has offered to... take me with her."

Gandalf's eyebrows rose. "Indeed." He held the Uruk's gaze for several moments, until Rukhtorû could stand it no longer and looked away uncomfortably. Sighing, Gandalf said, "In all truth, you would be a fool not to accept her offer. I have counseled mercy in your case, but I cannot guarantee that your imprisonment would be without suffering. Voice or no Voice," he said significantly, "you are still an orc, with an orc's tendencies toward violence, I have no doubt. Unless proved otherwise, all believe you pose a threat. In which case, they would feel compelled to slay you rather than set you free, regardless of how the war ends."

Rukhtorû nodded. "But... I do not want... I do not want to die."

"That is quite understandable."

"I do not want to hurt her."

"Admirable."

"How...," he began awkwardly, "how do I not?"

"Only you can answer that," he replied kindly. "As you have experienced, Romana can be... blunt, and sometimes hurtful. However, she is not truly a bad person. It is clear she sees something of value in you, or she would not have helped you, or asked for your company. I would suggest you try very hard to be worthy of the trust she has in you." Smiling, he added, "You should begin by developing a thick skin."


	13. Feasting on Corvidae

Rukhtorû shifted uncomfortably under the wizard's stare. The hobbits had departed, finding his company increasingly disturbing, no doubt. He wasn't sure why, other than the obvious.

"Has she mentioned where she is of a mind to go?" Gandalf said quietly as he began filling his pipe.

"West, down the Isen," he replied. The wizard nodded.

"A good direction to travel, at the moment. You should not encounter too many people along the way."

"She said we would eat... lobster."

"Ah. The sea. How ironic."

Furrowing his brow, Rukhtorû looked at him oddly. Gandalf noticed his expression and chuckled.

"The sea. It calls to the elves, as well."

The Uruk snorted dismissively. "I am pleased she disdains the elves. _Golug-hai globûrzu gûkut bag-sha._ " [Filthy elves are filled with shit.]

" _Thlûk_!" Gandalf roared, his voice echoing off the timbers in the ceiling and seeming to darken the room. [Enough!] Rukhtorû nearly sunk into the wall with fear. After a moment, the darkness passed, and the wizard's gentle manner returned. "She does not disdain the elves, though it appears so. If she truly despised them, she would not now be making amends."

"I do not understand," the Uruk said quietly, afraid of rousing the wizard's ire again.

Sighing, Gandalf said, "I have watched and listened. I believe it is envy she feels."

"Envy? What of?" Rukhtorû asked incredulously.

"Part of it is envy of departure. As you heard, she feels that those who 'make messes' must be responsible for cleaning them up. Though she is incorrect in her assessment that it is solely the elves' doing that the Dark Lord continues to grow in power, she is right about one thing: the elves who wish to leave are doing so. Many do, and so they have. That, she feels, is unforgivable."

The Uruk curled his lip. "They fear the battle to come. _I_ do not blame them." His eyes narrowed. "She is leaving, too."

"Indeed. But it is not out of fear that the elves are departing. Their time has passed. And I do not believe fear drives her away, either."

"Why, then?"

"Perhaps that is something you will learn yourself."

Mulling over the wizard's words, Rukhtorû suddenly grunted a laugh. "She did not clean up _one_ mess. She left me alive."

Gandalf raised a bushy eyebrow. "You think she did not?" He puffed idly on his pipe for a moment, then said, "Romana felt true guilt for your suffering, and sought to mend what she had wrought. She took responsibility for you. I would say she has more than 'cleaned up' her mess."

"She should have slain me," he growled.

"Many agree with you. But none are foolish enough to challenge her. It is not just her tongue that keeps them at bay," he warned. "She is also a very accomplished swordswoman. Apparently, though blades are no longer used by her people, she sought such teaching as a... hobby. It has served her well."

"She has slain orcs."

"She has slain _many_ orcs. But none have she murdered."

"What is the difference?" he grumbled sullenly.

"The orcs she has faced were slain in battle. They would have killed her without a thought. You, on the other hand, were wounded, unarmed, and helpless. Had she followed Theoden's orders, it would have been murder." He blew a smoke ring into the air. "At least, that is how Romana views things."

* * *

When Romana returned to the hall, Gandalf had left Rukhtoru and was seeing to his own sleeping arrangements for the night. All of her friends were filtering in as well, including Legolas and Boromir before whom she had only recently groveled. It was humiliating in the extreme, but she supposed she had it coming. Probably had it coming for a long time. Though Boromir continued to be haughty and made several rutting animal references she didn't particularly like, he at least semi-graciously accepted her apology.

Legolas was a different matter, and she cringed, remembering.

"Um... I'm sorry, Legolas. I was a bitch."

"Yes, you were," he replied. "You have been so ever since we met, and I fail to understand why."

"Your people are leaving, flouncing off to your special elves-only retreat," she said tightly, trying very hard not to fly off the handle again. "I've _never_ liked that idea, even when I thought it was a fairy tale."

"And yet here you stand, planning to do the same thing."

" _I_ am taking my hand out of the mix. I should have done it before now, especially after the whole thing with Boromir."

"What 'whole thing with Boromir'? You keep making references to that, but nobody has any idea what you're talking about."

Looking uncomfortably at anything but the elf, Romana said, "He wasn't supposed to make it this far. The orcs that took Merry and Pippin were supposed to kill him. _Because I was there_ , and _I_ didn't want to die, we ended up doing things way differently than history said, and he _survived_."

"What are you saying?" Legolas said slowly.

"I changed history, Legolas!" she said. "The longer I stick with you guys, the more damage I could do. _That's_ why I'm leaving. I know too much. I'm a danger to everything."

"Very well," he said, a mix of alarm and fear on his face. "I understand that. I admire it, as a matter of fact. But you have been hateful to me ever since Rivendell. Am I remembered so poorly in these 'history books' of yours that you despised me on sight?"

"No," she said in a low voice, shifting uncomfortably and scraping her toe on the floor. "It's just the whole... Undying Lands thing. You get this gorgeous land of wonder whenever you feel like it's getting too rough here. _Nobody_ has an option like that, Legolas. Most of us have to suck it up and deal. Aragorn has to. Arwen can't even go there now because of how she feels about him, it's _that_ exclusive."

"Are you saying... it is not fair?"

"Yes," she snapped. "It's not _fair_."

The elf chuckled, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I understand now. And I forgive you."

"Thanks," she replied sheepishly.

Now, Romana sat down with a thud next to the Uruk. "Back home, they would have called that 'eating crow.'"

"Why crow?"

"Because crows eat dead things. So if you eat crows, you eat digested dead things. Or stupid crap that poured out of your mouth."

"...What are crows?"

Sighing, she thought for a second. "Ravens, I suppose. Same family. Or those... crebain things, maybe."

"Ah."

"Have a nice chat with Gandalf?"

"He taught me some things."

"About?"

"About surviving in the wilds with you." He tried to hide his smile, but failed.

Romana laughed. "He'd be the expert. That wizard's pried me from many a throat the last few months."

Across the hall, Legolas met her gaze, and they nodded to one another. Seeing this, Rukhtorû sneered. "He has groveled, and you have forgiven him."

Romana shot the Uruk a bewildered look. "You think _he_ was at fault? Oh, hell no, Rukhtor. That one's mine, all mine." Sighing, she reached over and patted his knee. "I know you think the world of me, but sometimes I can be a horrid bitch."

He looked down at her hand and grinned. Grabbing it, he moved it to his upper thigh. "That is better."

"Behavior problem," she chided, slipping from his grip. "You know if anyone sees you doing things like that, you'll be the most sought-after pin cushion in the keep."

"I should already be dead," he growled. "If death is my fate, I would have some enjoyment before I go."

"So you're not coming with me?" she asked, clearly disappointed.

He might have said no, but for her eyes, her lips, her touch, the memory of her... "Yes, I will come with you."

"Good," she said warmly. "It'll be fun. Trust me."


	14. Great Balls of Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yeah, I know Pip took a peek before they got back to Helm's Deep, but I'm going with the idea that he was too distracted by the eventual meeting with Rukhtorû to focus too much on the palantír. And I'm the author, so pfft. ;)

The night's stillness was shattered by one of the halflings, crying out in pain on the other side of the hall. Rukhtorû started awake and sat up. Romana was already running to the small figure's aid.

Confused, the orc's brow furrowed as he watched the humans scrambling around. He'd never entered Orthanc, and so didn't recognize the palantír stone in the hobbit's grasp. However, he felt a shiver at the sight of the sphere, as if its malevolence even disturbed _him_.

Quite suddenly, the stricken hobbit was released from whatever hold the stone had on him, yet now the stone had a new captive: Romana. Falling to her knees, eyes wide, she stared into the swirling depths. None seemed able to pull her free.

Heedless of his injury, Rukhtorû lurched to his feet and limped quickly to the woman's side, roughly knocking people out of his way to get to her. Hesitating only a moment, he struck the ball with his fist. It fell from her grasp and thudded to the floor. Romana went limp in his arms. He easily lifted her, cradling her against his chest.

"What devilry is this?" Gandalf cried. "Fool of a Took! What have you done?" Turning to Rukhtorû, he quickly assessed Romana's condition. "Your quick thinking may have saved us all, Rukhtorû. Take her to her pallet and tend her. I will be there shortly." The wizard then bent over Pippin's trembling, terrified form.

"Let me help you," Aragorn said, steering the laden orc back to the other side of the hall. Once there, he relieved Rukhtorû of his burden and lay Romana on the pallet. As if from long habit, he put the stuffed bear to the woman's chest and folded her arms over it. Then the ranger turned to the orc and helped ease him down onto his own pallet. Without a word, Aragorn checked Rukhtorû's injury to ensure the stitches still held, then with a nod of satisfaction, returned to Gandalf and the hobbit.

Rukhtoru slowly calmed, though he was still confused. He wasn't sure what the wizard meant by 'tend her,' either. Swallowing, he leaned over and hesitantly placed his hand on her furrowed brow. She was shaking, almost feverish, and her forehead felt hot to the touch. It occurred to him that the stone must have belonged to his Master; that it must have been the 'none-of-your-damned-business' she had referred to earlier.

"Romana," he murmured, stroking her hair. "Foolish woman."

As if roused by the mention of her name, she stirred with a low groan. Rukhtorû leaned closer, wanting reassurance that she was all right even while wondering why he should care. Such concern for someone other than himself was more unsettling than the entire episode. Her eyes fluttered open and focused on him.

All of a sudden, Romana's eyes widened in terror, and a scream tore from her mouth as she clumsily scooted backwards out of his reach. The orc jerked his hand back and recoiled.

"Get your filthy hands _off_ me!" she cried, her hand going to her hip where she likely would have found a sword had she been girt for battle. Staggering clumsily to her feet, her haunted eyes searched around, unseeing, as if she were in an unfamiliar place. Rukhtorû didn't move; he could only stare at her in alarm.

Legolas ran up and grabbed her, pinning her arms to her sides. The woman erupted like a volcano, kicking and screaming wildly. Now Gandalf intervened with a hand upon her forehead. He murmured calming words, and she slowly relaxed, slumping in the elf's arms. Her eyes closed for a moment, then opened more clear and aware. Recognizing the wizard, she began to weep. Legolas released her, and she embraced Gandalf.

"You are safe," the wizard said gently. "It is over." When Romana's tears lessened, he held her at arm's length and said, "I am afraid you must tell me what you saw. I apologize, but we must know."

Wincing, she nodded and took a deep breath. "I saw him. I think... he was surprised to see me. He said, 'And who are you? Another of Saruman's slaves?' I didn't know what to say. I didn't expect to be _in_ there with him! I swear, Gandalf, I just wanted to get Pippin free of it."

"I know you did," he replied soothingly. "What happened next?"

"I... I didn't want him to know who I was, or what I knew," she said, her voice unsteady. "I thought... I thought I could keep from thinking things I shouldn't if I concentrated on something specific. So I..." She cast an embarrassed look at the orc. "I thought of _him_."

Gandalf glanced over his shoulder at the surprised orc. "What did he do?"

"He laughed," she replied hollowly. "He called me... orc-whore. I told him to go fuck himself. He showed me... things." She squeezed her eyes shut.

Boromir let out a low whistle. "I cannot believe you said that to the Dark Lord." Upon hearing finally who _'he'_ was, Rukhtorû stiffened with fear.

"What 'things', Romana?" the wizard pressed. "Please, it is important!"

"He showed me Rukhtorû," she said, her voice barely a whisper, and difficult even for the orc's sharp hearing to pick up. "Doing... things... to me." Her face was bright red with humiliation. "Please don't make me give you details, Gandalf."

Sighing, he shook his head. "I will not do that to you, and I am sorry such... visions were forced upon you. Was anything else said?"

Nodding, Romana said, "He asked again who I was. I refused. He... kicked it up a notch. He demanded to know. I think he was getting really pissed. I could _feel_ what was happening to me." She hugged herself and shivered. "I just wanted it to end, Gandalf. It was worse because it was _him_. After all I've done for him... I told him my name. Then the connection broke. I didn't want to, but I would have said more if it went on much longer."

"It was broken by Rukhtorû," Gandalf said gently, relief in his voice. "He came to your aid, though he can barely walk. That should tell you something."

Romana looked uncertainly at the orc, who couldn't meet her eyes. He was furious that he was used against her in such a way. Remembering the look of revulsion and hatred she'd leveled at him, Rukhtorû winced. "I will not harm you, Romana," he said quietly.

Nodding, she turned back to the wizard. "Is Pippin okay?"

"He is well," Gandalf replied. "Hobbits are resilient. He and Merry endured much torment at the hands of the Uruk-hai. I would have expected him to falter before the Dark Lord, but he did not. He is resting now, as you should do also."

Rukhtorû held his tongue until the hall settled into silence once more, then he leaned toward Romana. He hesitated when she recoiled from him, but forced himself to quietly ask, "What did the wizard mean?"

"About what?" she said. He could smell her fear, feel her tension.

"He said the halflings were tormented by Uruk-hai," he prompted.

Sighing, she explained, "Before we got to Rohan, we were attacked by a couple hundred of your friends. Saruman sent them specifically for halflings. Hobbits. Once they had Merry and Pippin, they ran for it, and we chased them."

"I remember," Rukhtorû mused. "We were engaged at the Fords, but I heard about that mission." Glancing across the hall, he grimaced. "It would seem they failed."

"Yeah," she agreed. "It didn't work out the way Saruman wanted, that's for sure."

Frowning, he looked at her again. "Why did my Master seek them? They are too small to be a threat."

She stifled a laugh. "Never underestimate the Shire folk, Rukhtor." Feeling a little of her former boldness returning, Romana gently punched his shoulder. "They're tougher than they look."

"Do you... do you still wish me to accompany you?" he asked uncertainly.

She didn't answer for a long moment. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she said, "I know... it wasn't really you. He was just... messing with my head. Trying to get to me. But... it's true, isn't it?"

"Is what true?" he asked warily.

"You're still an orc, Rukhtorû," she said, then laughed a little. "I'm sure that comes as no surprise. I guess I didn't want to see that. I sure as hell see it now."

He couldn't respond for a moment. "You did not want to see me as I am," he said slowly.

"Call it stupidity, naiveté, total brain disconnect, I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "I've done a lot of stupid-ass things since I came here. I think diddling around with you probably tops them all, though."

"Thank you," he said softly.

Raising her eyebrows, Romana looked at him questioningly. "For what?"

"For... not seeing me," he replied awkwardly, uncertainly. "Even for a moment."

A slight smile curved her lips, and she hesitantly reached out. Her fingers lightly touched his dark cheek. "You're just a softy underneath, aren't you?"

Embarrassed, he rolled his eyes. "There is nothing 'soft' about me."

She might have taken his statement and run with it, but after her recent experience... Swallowing, she pulled her hand back. "I'll... uh... have to think about it a bit more. It may take a little while for my eyes to close again."

"You do not have to show me the dragon," he offered.

"Oh, now," she said, swatting his chest playfully. "You didn't really think I was going to do that, did you?"

"I should have known," he growled without heat. "You tease. You promise. But you lie."

"You betcha," she giggled. "Don't underestimate _me_ either."

He chuckled. "You told the Dark Lord to fuck himself. I will not underestimate you."


	15. Parting Words

Romana said her good-byes in the keep, not wanting to stand on the battlements and watch all her friends ride off, because she knew she'd watch them until they disappeared in the distance.

Gandalf was anxious to bring Pippin safely to Minas Tirith, now that Sauron suspected he was the Ringbearer.

"You should also come," he advised Romana. "He saw you as well."

"Oh now," she said, affecting modesty. "What would I do in Minas Tirith? And what about Rukhtorû? I don't think Boromir's dad would approve of me _or_ my friends."

"No, I suspect he would not," Gandalf smiled. "He is... not quite what any of us expected, is he?" Sighing, he said seriously, "It is my hope he _continues_ to defy expectation, for your sake."

"You're going to think I'm gross in the extreme," she said quietly, "but I sort of... kissed him... a little. It was an accident. I don't think he meant to... It just sort of... happened."

"I am not surprised," he replied gently. "The way the two of you act together... well, I'm not so old that I do not recognize such things." He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. "I do not think you are 'gross.' I think you have a great and generous heart. Rukhtorû is truly blessed by Ilúvatar, for he has found the one woman in Arda who does not look upon him as a beast that must be slain."

"I'm going to miss you, Gandalf," she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I hope we run into each other again, when this whole fracas blows over."

"I believe we shall," he replied, a twinkle in his eye. "When you least expect it."

Gimli seemed like a stern father as he looked Rukhtorû up and down. "I hear one word of mischief about you, and you won't be able to run fast or far enough. Understand?"

Rukhtorû grunted and smirked. "Tell her to call me by my right name, and I will behave."

"Don't mind him, he's such a big baby about it," Romana said dismissively as she hugged the gruff dwarf. "You take care, now. Make sure Legolas stays out of trouble. You know how he is."

"It is good you mended things with him," Gimli replied. "Bad blood is never good before parting."

"Ain't that the truth."

"Are you certain of your decision?" Legolas asked, his normally smooth brow creased with worry.

"Yeah," she replied. "I don't want to go alone, and Middle Earth needs you guys. Go kick ass."

"The 'ass' we will kick is _orc_ ass, you remember," Gimli pointed out, glancing at the Uruk.

Shrugging, Rukhtorû said, "Kill them all. They are _snaga_. I do not care." A bitter snarl curled his lip. "You have already killed all the Uruk-hai."

Ducking his head awkwardly, Gimli found he had nothing to say to that.

"We will miss you," the elf said, embracing her for a moment. Turning to the Uruk, he said, "Protect her with your life, Rukhtorû. You owe it to her."

The Uruk nodded curtly. He felt he did an admirable job of not sneering at the _golug_ as he would normally do.

"You will always be welcome in Gondor," Aragorn said to Romana. "When all is calm once more, please come see us." Turning to Rukhtorû, he privately lamented that he hadn't had a chance to speak with the Uruk before. "If she is with you, you stand a better chance of surviving in these lands. Do not squander the gift she has given you."

"I will not," Rukhtorû replied.

"She is dear to all of us," the future king said sternly. "If there is a drop of goodness in you, I expect you to show it. None here believe you capable of restraint. I challenge you to prove us wrong."

"Goodness, Strider, you're worse than a big brother. Honestly." Pulling the ranger into a fierce hug, Romana thumped him on the back. "You take care of yourself."

"You also."

"Going through with it?" Boromir asked stiffly.

"Yeah," she replied. "Listen, you be careful, all right? I'll be really cross if I find out you went and got yourself killed."

"Would you even take notice?"

"Of course I would. Don't pout. And don't slouch. Keep your shield up. Make them work for every drop of blood, got that?"

Boromir smiled uncomfortably. "If that... if he turns on you..."

"I'll gut him and drag him around, yeah, yeah," she said with amusement. "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. Now scoot. You're holding everyone up."

"As Aragorn said, you will be welcome in Gondor."

"I promise I'll visit when you clean up afterwards. You know how crazy these things get – pizza on the record player, geeks stuffed into the glass coffee table... Yeah, you'll want to call a service in, I'm thinking. Nobody parties like the Mordor boys."

Boromir shook his head, a chuckle sneaking through. "I did not believe it possible, but you will be missed, Romana."

"I grow on you," she said with a grin, and punched his shoulder. "Like a really invasive weed."

Glancing down, she grinned at Merry and Pippin. "Speaking of weeds, you boys got into Treebeard's liquor cabinet, didn't you?"

"I'm sure I do not know what you mean," Pippin said, laughing. Yet he still checked his height against his cousin's.

"Another few inches, and you'll be looking Gimli in the eye," she joked. "He won't like that one bit, you know." Dropping to one knee, she looked them in the eyes. "He'll be fine, trust me. Both of them. You'll see them again. They'll put things back in order, you'll see."

"We didn't get to say good-bye," Merry said, bowing his head. "You sent them off so quickly."

"Had to get ready for our guests, didn't we? Wouldn't want to keep them waiting." Gripping the hobbit's shoulder, she said, "You played your part well. They got the head start they needed, even though you got a rough few days out of it. Everything worked out the way it was supposed to."

"And you're... not afraid of him?" Pippin asked, glancing at the tall, intimidating Uruk standing behind her.

"Not appreciably," she said with a shrug. "Probably stupid, I know. If anyone knows how rude and nasty they can be, it's you two. But I'll tell you something – Saruman controlled him, and now he doesn't hear his Voice anymore. Rotten bastard that Saruman was, he mixed orcs and men, probably in the most disgusting manner possible, but the _point_ is, Rukhtorû isn't one hundred percent orc. He's got some human in him, enough to be standing quietly behind me instead of rampaging through the hall."

"My leg hurts, woman," he growled. "And I lack a weapon."

"Isn't he just so funny?" she grinned. "I can tell we're going to have a blast. But seriously, don't worry about me. You've got too much to worry about already. Go do that voodoo you do so well, okay?"

Both hobbits embraced her fiercely. When they released her, she stood awkwardly and looked at the members of the Fellowship, forcing herself to smile. "It's been great, guys. Really. I just... well, things will work better for everyone if I head off on my own. So you all take care."

As they filed out of the great hall, Romana watched them go, hugging herself and trying not to cry. When the door shut, it echoed in the empty hall, reminding her disturbingly of when the Watcher slammed the doors on Moria, trapping them inside.


	16. Don't Forget the Beach Umbrella

"You had _better_ behave yourself," Romana warned sternly, her hands on the latches to the double doors of the armory.

Rukhtorû gave her a withering look. "How many promises must I make, woman? I will not kill you, I will not harm you, I will not so much as nudge you in jest."

Romana stuck her tongue out at him. "I _mean_ , Mr. Touchy, don't go crazy in here. Last I saw it, we were getting all suited up for battle. This place is _the shit_ , but we're going for practical. So _no_ heavy stuff like plate. And for crying out loud, be reasonable about weapons, will you? We're going to the beach, not to war."

"You are... allowing me to carry a weapon?" he asked, frowning uncertainly.

"Uh, _yeah_. I thought maybe it would be a good idea, you know, if we ran into something nasty. I do a fair enough job, but I know you'd be really cross with me if you had to miss out on the bloodshed."

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the doors open.

He'd never seen anything quite like it. Racks upon racks of swords, maces, and axes. Wooden frames bore full suits of armor in rows. Open crates bristled with fletched arrows, while quivers, crossbows, and unstrung bows lined an entire wall. All shone dully in the torchlight from the hall.

"I'm thinking chainmail should be the toughest stuff we grab," Romana muttered to herself as she fetched a torch and started looking among the armaments. "Relatively lightweight, very flexible. Maybe some leather on top..."

Leaving her to rummage, Rukhtorû examined the swords. His own hadn't been made particularly well. The smiths in Isengard weren't interested in forging good blades, nor were they ordered to do so. Closer to the day they marched forth, the smiths hadn't had the chance to even properly beat the metal into shape, forced by haste and their Master's impatience to use molds instead. Rukhtorû had been equipped with one of these inferior blades, and it had snapped shortly after his battle with Romana.

He felt a twinge of anger, that she had bested him in combat. Now that he knew the identity of his conqueror, the defeat was all the more galling. Curling his lip, he slowly turned and fixed a glare on the woman.

She was oblivious, holding up one mail shirt after another and examining each with a critical eye.

It wasn't particularly strong, the need to avenge himself. The need to kill. He wondered about that. Was he driven only by his Master's Voice? Or did he already feel she would serve a different purpose? He smiled as he returned his attention to the weaponry. Rukhtorû lacked any special distinction that might have garnered him his Master's attention, and perhaps the rare gift of a trip to the breeding pens below the tower. No, such a boon was reserved for those chosen as leaders: generals and lieutenants. The common footsoldiers such as himself were herded like beasts once they were inspected at birth, and were closely watched for any weakness thereafter. Very few displayed higher potential past that point, for they were born grown, and apart from brief disorientation from their Master's dark magics, they were as they would always be.

His brow furrowed. Were they, though? He was standing in a treasure trove of armaments, dozens, _hundreds_ of weapons near at hand, with a whiteskin that had not only defeated him but had done so painfully, and by her very nature as a female, with great humiliation. Yet he did not wish to strike her down. He could, he mused. Easily enough. She was looking at armor, not weapons. With the simple clothing he wore, he could come up behind her unheard, and drive a sword into her back. She would never know his intentions until it was too late.

Except... he didn't want to.

"What do you think of this?" Romana asked, approaching him with a chain shirt in her hands. He just stared at her, shocked by that realization. She held the shirt up to his shoulders against his chest and looked him over.

"Hmmm... damn if they don't make men like they do Uruk-hai," she grumbled, and returned to her searching. She discarded the too-small chain shirt.

"I do not want to harm you," Rukhtorû said. His voice sounded odd to him in the silent room.

"Excellent," she said absently, then tipped headfirst into a crate, digging around the bottom. Her backside was so prominently and obviously displayed, he felt a surge of lust drive through him like a spear. It surprised and almost staggered him, and he took a few steps forward. His hands clenched and flexed, desperate to grab those hips and hold them firmly in place as he...

Then she stood up with a cry of delight. "Of _course_ , the bigger sizes are _always_ at the bottom, aren't they?" Turning, she once more came to him with a chain shirt for comparison against his torso.

" _Much_ better," she said approvingly, then shoved the shirt into his arms. "Pick a sword or two and put this with it. I think I'm going to try my hand at the crossbow. Not much call for them where I come from." She chuckled as she turned to the weapons in question. "Not much call for swords either, come to think of it. We're not much interested in toe-to-toe confrontations anymore."

Rukhtorû let the breath he held out slowly. "You do not understand," he tried again. "I do not want to harm you. My Master would slay me if he knew."

Finally, he seemed to break through her distraction and she turned to regard him thoughtfully. "Your Master had a particular use for you. I don't think he gave a damn what _you_ might want to do with yourselves. It's up to you now. He's finally shut up, and the only Voice you hear is your own. What's it telling you?"

He didn't answer for a moment. It wasn't true, entirely. He _did_ still hear a Voice, but it was a different one. He heard _hers_. Calming him as he recovered, singing to sooth him, conversing with him as though he were a man, not an Uruk. Not an enemy.

"I have... strange thoughts. Not what I am accustomed to thinking."

She nodded understandingly. "I'm not surprised. It's like... getting discharged from the army, I suppose. You spend a good part of your life being told what to do, where to go, how to dress, who to kill... then all of a sudden you're back in the 'real' world, and you just sort of... stare around, looking for someone to fill that role. Sometimes it's hard to believe that it's _you_ now." Sighing, she turned back to the crossbows. "No doubt about it, it's gonna suck to be you for awhile."

"Men... this happens to Men as well?"

She shrugged, not looking around. "Yeah. Happens to everyone, really. Not just soldiers. Take kids going off to college, for example. They've been living by their parents' rules all their lives, and then suddenly they're miles and miles away, surrounded by a load of other young people who are _also_ far from home and any authority figures they respect. Often degenerates into a freshman year full of debauchery." Winking over her shoulder and grinning, she said, "Totally plowed my GPA into the dirt, I assure you. If I hadn't gotten my act together my second year, I would have graduated with a 1.4 instead of a 3.2."

"I do not understand what you are saying," he said uncertainly. He had a feeling he would be saying those words a lot with this woman.

"Well," she said, taking down a lightweight crossbow and shouldering it, squinting down the sites experimentally, "humans in my world go to school for _years_. Like, fifteen or something. We learn about basic things, like how to read, write, and do math. Kind of a pain in the ass, but you can't get out of it. How did you learn your language?"

Startled, Rukhtorû blinked. "I do not know. I was born, and... I knew how to speak. What is... school?"

"School is where you sit in a room with a bunch of people your own age and listen to a teacher tell you things," she replied, examining another crossbow. "We can usually speak pretty well before we ever get to school, of course. Our parents see to that."

"Parents," he said, testing the word. "What are they?"

"Mom and dad," she said, finally looking at him. "You know... the ones who made us. Am I going to have to give you The Talk, Rukh?" she asked, grinning.

Sighing with exasperation, he growled, "Why do you insist on speaking my name wrong?"

She shrugged, and resumed her search. "Gets a rise out of you, I guess. You're _really_ easy. Tell you what; I'll call you Rukh. I'm assuming that's the 'horror' part. Then you won't get all bent out of shape about being called 'lovely'. Deal?"

"Deal," he replied, shaking his head in defeat. "So... when you say they 'made' you..."

"I'm _assuming_ you were made the same way, even though I have my doubts that Saruman was hosting an orgiastic bash of epic proportions. Something tells me it was the pinnacle of rape-o-ramas. In any case, you have a dad, which is the male, and you have a mom, who is the female. The dad does his thing with the mom, mom gets pregnant, bitches and whines for months, gets a tummy the size of a small planet, then erupts in goo-covered baby."

Rukhtorû stared at her in horror.

Laughing, she said, "Haven't you even seen horses or pigs or anything have babies?"

"No," he said, brow furrowed. "I am a soldier. I did not tend animals."

"Oh well. It's a sight to see, let me tell you," she said. "How are the Uruk-hai born?"

"We are torn from the earth," he said, shrugging. "I do not know if we were always there, or put there to grow. When I was born, a _snaga_ pitmaster inspected me. I was acceptable. Then I was sent to be trained for war."

Romana raised her eyebrows. "All in the same day?"

He nodded. "Master did not waste time."

"Apparently not. You came out... like this, basically? All grown up and raring to go?"

"Yes."

"Wow, Peter Jackson's going to get all kinds of excited that he guessed right," she chuckled.


	17. Now Boarding the Luuuuv Train

"Well," Romana said as she looked out on the sweeping ramp curving down to the Plains of Rohan below, "I guess this is it. Ready?"

Rukh grunted in the affirmative. He'd never worn such armor, or carried such burdens as he did now. His swords were made by Men, his armor too lightweight to make him feel truly protected. Their packs were laden with provisions, mostly of elven making. He grimaced; he would have to be starving and near death to let that foul _golug_ shit past his lips.

It was strange, seeing the battlefield from this perspective. Rukh hadn't made it as far as the walls, barely got his foot on the ramp before the horsemen came screaming down on top of them. Looking around, he couldn't believe how _clean_ the field was. Where were the bodies? He had only been sequestered in the keep for a few days; surely there would still be _some_ evidence of the battle remaining.

"Where are they?" he growled.

"Where are _who_?" Romana asked as they descended.

"When you took me to the walls, they were piling my brothers and burning them. Where are they now?"

"Oh," she said quietly, and halted. She turned and gave him an uncomfortable look. "The, uh, trees. At least, that's what everyone assumed. They hung out for a day, then during the night... They were gone, and all the orcs with them."

The Uruk didn't know why that news should disturb him more than the burning, but it did, and he looked away. He was surprised when Romana gripped his upper arm briefly in sympathy before continuing down the ramp.

Romana felt incredibly excited about the prospects ahead as they turned their feet northwest, leaving the Hornburg well behind them. It was like being freed from prison, albeit a strange prison where one wrong move could bring it down around your ears. Anywhere else, she had to admit that leveling the damn thing would probably be a good thing, but she knew what the consequences would be in this case. The people of Middle Earth would not thank her for disrupting history more than she already had.

Glancing at the stoic Uruk marching at her side, she frowned. If she _had_ fubarred the whole bid to destroy the Ring, someone like Rukh could probably stomp around the land wherever he wanted and do whatever he wanted. It stunk too much like slavery that he was obliged to stick by her side, his life hanging by a thread she could cut with a word to anyone, anywhere, without a better reason than 'he's an orc.'

And that's how it was destined to be. If she assumed that she was in the distant past of her own world, then Rukh's people, including his cousins in Mordor, suffered genocide on the most appallingly grand scale in history. Unlike the Holocaust, however, there would be no survivors to tell the tale, none to advise moderation after the fact, and truthfully, no tear shed at the loss. It made her sick thinking about it.

Knowing this was how it had to be, that it was the price to be paid for Sauron's destruction, did not make it easier to accept. Not now that she knew one of the victims.

"Rukh," she said thoughtfully, slowing to a stop. He halted and looked curiously at her. "I just want to say... I'm really sorry."

"For what?"

"For... everything," she said, shrugging. "All of it. This war. The deaths of your people."

"You did not slay all of them with your own hand," he said. "The fault is not yours."

"I know that, but... nobody's going to pony up. Ever. So... I just want you to know that _I'm_ sorry."

He nodded, though confused.

* * *

"It's starting to get a bit dark," she said hours later, looking up at the sky. They'd made good progress on their first day out, and miraculously hadn't killed one another. Things were looking pretty positive. "Might as well set up camp for the night."

Rukh shrugged, yet followed her to a nearby copse of trees. "I am not weary."

"No, I'm sure you're not," she chuckled. She gratefully dropped her packs on the ground and stretched her back. "Can't be good for your leg, though. I know you're about healed, god knows why, but you've been lazing around for days. Don't want to overdo it."

"The Uruk-hai heal quickly," he said, dropping his own packs and beginning to dig out a firepit.

"Hmph," Romana replied. "Probably the elven blood."

He was at her throat in a heartbeat, one hand nearly crushing her windpipe, the other holding a knife in front of her face. "I do _not_ have _golug_ blood!" he snarled.

Choking and clutching his wrist with desperate hands, Romana brought her knee up hard between his legs. The unexpected attack nearly dropped him, groaning, on the ground. He staggered back, holding his privates and grimacing.

Rubbing her throat, Romana glared at him. " _Very_ nice," she rasped. "Let me tell you something. The general belief is that the first orcs were corrupted and maimed _elves_. Whether this is true or not is open to debate. What _I_ see is a being that heals ridiculously fast, like an _elf_ , and I'm afraid that's evidence enough for me that the story's true. So _back the fuck off_ , Rukh. Piss and moan about how you hate elves all you like, but you can't choose your parents, and you can't run away from your heritage."

"You kicked my balls!" he roared when he had his voice back.

"You almost strangled me, you dick!"

"So kill me! Do not kick me again!"

"What, you'd rather die than get your crotch rammed?

"It hurts!"

"I _know_ it does! Why do you think I did it?"

He sank to his knees, and started unlacing his leather breeches.

"What the hell are you doing _now_?"

"I want to see if you broke anything," he snarled.

"Oh, for the love of god," she cried, rolling her eyes dramatically. "It was _hardly_ enough to do anything permanent. Good god, has _no one_ kicked you there before?"

" _No_ ," he snapped, examining his privates carefully. Romana probably should have looked away, but honestly, she hadn't seen him since she first washed him up for Aragorn's healing work. Some opportunities just shouldn't be missed, and if he was immodest enough to pull his dick out in front of her, well...

After a few minutes, he tucked himself back in and closed up shop. Romana stood with her arms folded and her hip cocked.

"Everything right where you left it this morning?" she asked sarcastically.

"Yes," he growled, and furiously returned to setting up the campfire. "I will repay you for that."

Romana snorted. "You fail to remember why I kicked you to begin with."

"You insulted me."

"Fair enough, but you hurt me as well. I'd say we're even."

He grunted and withheld any further comments. He still ached, and shifted slightly. It occurred to him that, had any female done that to him before, he would not have been able to do anything to them. As it was, he barely wanted to touch _himself_ , even to piss.

When Romana sat down next to him and began chewing on a strip of dried meat, he growled a warning and put another few inches between them. She stopped and slowly turned, her expression amused.

"Really? I scare you now?"

"You do not," he snarled. "I do not _trust_ you."

"Pfft. Baby."

"What if I kicked you? How would that be?" he snapped.

"Not nearly as bad," she said, shrugging. "I've got all my goodies up inside. Not my fault you boys like to dangle."

"You took advantage of a weakness," he retorted.

"Listen to you," she said with a laugh. "All's fair in love and war, my boy. Don't even _begin_ to tell me you wouldn't do the same damn thing, given half a chance."

"I would not kick a whiteskin in the balls!" he roared.

"And so you'd be gutted and skewered, wouldn't you?" she replied mildly. "I'll tell you something. Men and women have different outlooks when it comes to fighting. In my opinion, a man will leave vulnerabilities unexploited because he doesn't want anyone getting in under his guard in the same way. He'll _call_ it 'honorable combat,' but it's really about not getting hit below the belt. A woman, on the other hand, is traditionally at a disadvantage, so she doesn't give a flying fuck _what's_ 'proper' or 'fair.' If it works, and saves her from getting raped or killed, it's open season. You might just want to make a note of that, for future reference."

"It still hurts," he growled sullenly.

"Probably not doing you any good keeping it inside, so, you know...," she said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, "if you want to hang loose for awhile, I won't mind."

"I would not give you the satisfaction," he snarled, then furrowed his brow. What the hell kind of orc _was_ he? She all but dared him to show his cock, and he was denying her. "Fuck," he growled, and jerkily unlaced his leathers once more. "You wish to see my cock, you may see it."

"Already have," she commented lightly, leaning back against a tree and watching him with amusement. "It's not a big deal. Well, let's just say it's not a big _deal_. You have nothing to be ashamed of, from a size perspective." She grinned.

"There," he said, a hint of relief in his voice at the removal of confinement. "What do you think?"

"I _think_ someone's just a wee bit cranky," she said, grinning. "Have something to eat, big guy." She tossed a strip of salted pork at him, and he caught it in the air. "Good reflexes."

He stared at her for several seconds. "You do not... flinch. Or weep."

Romana raised an eyebrow. "Why should I?"

He glanced down at himself, and for some reason felt indecently exposed. Though still aching, he hid himself again, slowly tying the laces securely.

"You do not fear me," he said quietly. "When the Dark Lord sent his nightmares, you were terrified."

"Ew, don't remind me," she said, shuddering. "Look, I'm not some little kid who gets a nightmare and lives it day and night. I know it wasn't real."

"I want to fuck you," he said. "It plagues me."

"Thanks for sharing," she replied easily. "I'm not worried about it."

"Hmph," he grunted with wry amusement. "It is no wonder, with such tactics. I could not act on it if I wanted to."

"See? Simple and effective."

"I will not be in pain for long," he pointed out, narrowing his eyes.

"And when you aren't, we'll deal with it," she said. "Just remember what card I've got up my sleeve, and we'll get along just fine."


	18. My Baby Does the Hanky Panky

"You know what I miss?"

Rukh glanced over at her. She was lying flat on her back, feet propped up on a stone, looking up at the stars. The fire had burned low.

"What do you miss?" he asked.

"Hot showers."

His brow furrowed. "What is that?"

"Think of... a waterfall, or a hell of a lot of rain falling on you," she explained. "Only hot. Like, steamy kind of hot. Wash all the dirt and sweat off, kind of hot."

Rukh grunted. "Sounds terrible."

"Trust me. You get a nice hot shower, you'll be loving it. Makes your muscles relax, too. Gets rid of tension. Could use that in this place, that's for damn sure."

"Fighting will do that," he snorted. "Battle loosens the muscles. Don't need to get wet."

"Hmph," Romana scoffed. "You don't know what you're talking about. Makes you _more_ tense, if you ask me. Shower'll get you clean. Battle makes you more funky."

"So?"

"Funky equals yuck," she commented. "You want a girl sniffing around you, I recommend keeping yourself clean."

Rukh laughed explosively, unable to answer for several moments. "Is that why you have not come after me? Because I am not clean enough?"

Smiling, she shook her head. "Nah. Just keeping you guessing, that's all."

His brows arched. "You wish to surprise me, then?"

"Surprises are fun," she replied, her grin broadening.

"Not if the surprise is a blade in your back," he said with a chuckle. His mirth immediately died as he recalled his own thoughts in the armory.

"No, that would suck as a surprise," Romana laughed. "You want balloons and cake. That's much better."

"Not... a kiss?"

Romana slowly turned her head to look at him. "Maybe," she said slowly. "Kisses are good surprises, I'll give you that." She felt a flutter low in her gut, a ripple through her loins. There was something... Dammit, what was it about this Uruk that was so freaking attractive? He was arguably the ugliest man ever, but somehow fell into that 'so ugly he's cute' category. And when he didn't have his mouth screwed up in a sneer or his lips pulled back in a snarl... Was it the 'bad boy' aura that radiated from him like heat off the sun's surface? Or was it simply one of those unexplainable chemical things, where you have no idea _what_ the hell is going on, you just know it's _right_ , and you'll make yourself crazy trying to chase down the reason why?

Shaking herself, she returned her gaze to the safety of the night sky. "Mind yourself, though. You try to surprise me like that, I might put my knee in your crotch."

A low growl came from him, but he didn't reply. Romana just smiled.

* * *

Rukh listened to the night sounds after Romana finally drifted off to sleep, clutching that bizarre toy against her chest.

The ache had finally gone away, only to be replaced with an uncomfortably demanding erection. It was annoying. She was close by, unguarded, unarmed, and had taken her chainmail off. He could have her if he wanted, and none would ever know of it.

But then he'd have to kill her. He knew her well enough by now to realize she'd never stand for such a thing. If he did not take her willingly, he would have to slay her, and then he would never have her again. If the passion she showed in the kiss they shared was any hint of what it would be like to fuck with her consent, he was willing to wait for such a thing.

Wasn't he?

It didn't feel likely at the moment, and he grudgingly unlaced his breeches to quench the need. Closing his eyes, he imagined her touching him, stroking his cock, kissing his mouth. He once saw one of his brothers put his cock in a woman's mouth, and imagined her in that position.

At the height of his pleasure, when he had nearly reached his peak, he cracked open his eyes to take another look at Romana, remind himself of her smooth skin and dark hair...

She was sitting up, watching him with a bemused look on her face.

He immediately stopped, and tried to still his gasping breaths. She slowly clapped her hands a few times.

" _Very_ nice," she said softly with a grin. "Ah, damn. Not done, huh? Do you want me to go take a walk?"

"No," he growled viciously. Why was he humiliated? It made no sense, and just made him more angry. "I want you to put my cock in your mouth."

She laughed. "Ah, poor Rukh. Look, I'm sorry I... interrupted. I'll just wander off and pretend to pee or something so you can.. you know, finish up." She stood and stretched, and chuckled as she left the camp.

He tucked himself back in and yanked the laces closed furiously. Leaning against the fallen log at his back, he rubbed his face.

Several minutes passed before Romana returned warily. Seeing him sitting there with his arms crossed over his chest and nothing 'hanging out,' she relaxed. Sighing, she sat down next to him.

"I'm sorry I laughed," she said quietly. He shrugged, but said nothing, his stony glare fixed on the smoldering coals of the campfire.

"It wasn't nice of me," she ventured. He growled briefly.

"Would you feel better if I... if I kissed you?" she asked awkwardly without looking at him.

"That might help," he snarled, not expecting her to follow through. Teasing and lies, he groused to himself.

"All right, then," she said. To his surprise, she rose to her knees and climbed astride his lap. His breath caught in his throat. "Just relax," she whispered. "Surely you remember how this goes."

Cupping his face in her hands, she leaned forward and kissed him, and his head fell weakly back against the log. He felt the wave of heat roaring through him, the resurgence of his arousal, now with her body pressed against him. He gripped her buttocks with clawed hands, digging in. She squirmed on his lap, giggling against his lips. Again, he was helpless, in her power, unwilling to assert himself.

More than before, his submissiveness enthralled her, and she plundered his mouth greedily. Now there was no chance of anyone walking in on them, and it wasn't a momentary indiscretion, or an accident. Slipping her arms around his neck, Romana left his mouth and moved to his throat, his neck, his ears. One flick of her tongue along the ridge of his pointed ear sent a shiver through his body that surprised and amused her. The low growl that had rumbled from him since she started suddenly erupted in a throaty groan. She felt his fingers contract across her back, tearing through the thin fabric of her linen tunic.

She had a moment of panic, but pushed it away. She had no intention of letting things get as far as the pants coming off. Shirts flying in tatters across the campsite were fine. She had extras in her pack. She pulled his shirt off and flattened her bare breasts against his naked chest. When his hands went to the back of her trousers, she gently pushed them away. He didn't insist, though she could feel the evidence of his need. As if of their own accord, her hips moved, rubbing her against him. He groaned, shuddered, and once again reached for her pants.

"No, Rukh," she breathed next to his ear. "Not tonight."

"Don't... move, then," he grunted as he retreated. His hands went to her back once more, stroking her skin. Gripping her with one arm, his other hand slid down over her backside, then down between her legs. Romana's head flipped back and she moaned, closing her eyes. Rukh mouthed her neck and throat, memorizing her scent, tasting her, grazing his teeth across her skin. All the while, he rubbed between her legs, reveling in the pleasure he was giving her as she arched backwards and rolled her hips. Finally, he saw it.

As she had described, a serpentine creature wrapped its body about her breasts. The scales were a rainbow of colors, all blending one into another through its entire length. One brutal hand clutched her breast, letting a drop of blood spill from its piercing claw.

Abandoning all thought of her neck, Rukh assaulted her breasts, nipping, licking, sucking the tender flesh. Far from repelling her, his actions seemed to inflame her, for Romana caressed his back, sometimes digging her fingernails into him and whimpering when his attentions were a little too rough.

"Oh god, you're a hell of a behavior problem," she groaned. "I think you'd better get your buddy out again."

He didn't quite understand what she meant, and was disappointed when she pulled away from him. But then she swiftly yanked her pants off and tossed them aside. He needed no further instructions, and shimmied out of his own breeches quickly. Once more, she mounted his lap, only this time he could feel the heat and unexpected wetness of her sex.

"You will fuck me," he said, incredulous.

"Yeah," she replied between fierce kisses. "Looks that way, doesn't it? It's what you get, being one hell of a sexy bastard. Can't help myself." Raising herself just enough, she shifted a bit, then slowly lowered again, taking his full length inside her.

Gasping with shock and desire in equal measures, Romana froze and stared into Rukh's fierce yellow eyes. "What the fuck am I doing?" she breathed.

"I do not know," he replied, "but I beg you, don't stop." His own breath kept catching and releasing with the desperate need he felt.

"Well, shit, no point in stopping _now_ ," she said, forcing a smile. "Horse is already in the barn."

"Ride me, then," he growled, and kissed her.

"Good idea," she murmured, and let herself go.


	19. Shit Happens, Sometimes

Rukh stared at the sky without seeing the stars. He was acutely aware of the smallest sounds, from the occasional pop of a spark from the campfire to Romana's soft breathing as she slept half draped over his body. He could hear his own breathing, a slow rumbling sound, like the purr of a cat. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Reaching up, he covered her hand with his own, where it rested over his heart.

Nothing had prepared him for what this felt like. He was taught to be the one doing the taking. He had stolen the virtue of a few females along the way as his Master sought to cow the Westfold. He'd watched it done many times more, a disappointed observer when his superiors were too rough and slew the woman before he got his turn.

Though not all the women bled, which he was told only happened once, there didn't seem to be a difference in how hard they fought, how loud they screamed. Whiteskin females fled before the threat of violation by an orc. They begged for death instead, very often. It became a joke among his brothers, saying the females wished for death to hide the lust for orcs that burned in their bodies. That though they wept and resisted, it was a ruse to hide what they _really_ wanted.

Did he and his brothers truly believe this? No. They knew how hideous, how foul, how cursed they were. They heard their Master's whiteskin allies disdain them, often to their faces as if they were dumb animals who did not understand speech. Even their Master's face showed revulsion when he was forced to give them direct instruction. They knew they would never be looked upon with lust, or even friendliness, by any living creature.

They made a good weapon against their Master's enemies, from the mightiest soldier to the humblest peasant maid to the tiniest child. The Uruk-hai terrified them all, the hated becoming the haters. Rukh had reveled in the power such fear gave him. He had slaughtered the soldiers without mercy, without remorse. He had laughed at the cringing females and plundered their bodies for every scrap of pleasure he could find there. He had pushed away any thoughts his Master would not approve of as he did these things.

His Master would certainly disapprove of what was going through his mind now.

Romana never looked at him as though his face or his nature sickened her, not even when she first found him bleeding to death on the battlefield. She never shrank from touching him. Tonight, she had looked at him with lust, had plundered _his_ body for pleasure, and given so much more than he'd ever felt before in return.

The lies of his Master seemed never-ending. He'd felt pain and fear against orders, and now he felt... contentment. He was sated, and while that would certainly be acceptable, his complete disinterest in doing anything else but lie by her side and hold her close, would not.

It confused him, this quiescence. Why was he not rolling atop her and putting the renewed stiffness of his cock to good use? Instead, he was _ignoring_ it. A naked female was curled against his body, one leg slung over his, her head on his shoulder, and he did not want to disturb her slumber by moving. That she was lying in his embrace, having had his cock inside her, was shocking to him in and of itself. He would have accepted the tears, the screams, the running away. That was how it had always been. He had to learn a whole new way to behave now, for Romana did none of those things. He shuddered at the thought of her ever finding out what _he_ used to do.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked sleepily. He looked down and met her half-lidded eyes.

"That I do not know what to do now," he replied.

"You're doing just fine," she said, and yawned. She settled herself more closely against him, if that were possible.

"My cock is hard again," he mentioned hopefully, a slight smile threatening the corners of his mouth.

Grinning, she slid her hand down his belly. "Why, so it is. The stamina of the Uruk-hai _is_ legendary." He gasped at her boldness, though he should be used to it by now. He tried to hide his surprise as she climbed on top of him, straddling him, rubbing against him teasingly.

"Mmmm," she moaned, slowly taking him inside her. Pushing against his chest to sit up, she began to ride him once more. He gripped and kneaded her breasts, his head swimming with fever as heat once more roared through his body. Bracing his feet, he thrust his hips up, taking her by surprise, but not displeasing her.

"I want... to ride you," he grunted, then leered. "Ride the wild Romana."

"Sure, why not?" she said agreeably, winking at him. "I think you've earned it." Lying down flat against his chest, she urged him to roll over on top of her. Once in position, he braced his arms so he could see her face, and let his own passions take over. His hips thrust quickly, his movements rough and wild. Far from being offended by him, her reaction nearly made him falter. Her hips rocked to his rhythm, her gasps and cries were shamelessly loud, and her hands gripped his backside with such strength he was certain he'd find finger marks there come morning. And when her eyes weren't rolled back in her head from the pleasure he was giving her, they were locked on his. Seeing him, knowing what he was, and _still desiring him_.

His peak came quickly, and he collapsed upon her, breathless and sobbing without knowing why. Her hands gentled, and stroked his back as she murmured in his ear.

"It's okay, Rukh," she said. "I don't mind. Really."

"I... I do not... you...," he choked, then swallowed hard. He couldn't look at her now, and gripped her tightly beneath him, his forehead pressed to the ground above her shoulder. He took a shuddering breath and forced himself to speak into her ear. "Why?" he breathed. "I am... filth. A beast. A _monster_. Why?"

Sighing, Romana gently pushed his shoulders. He rose and sat up, avoiding her eyes. She sat facing him and took his hands in hers. "I have a feeling I'm going to be answering that question from a lot of people," she said quietly, a half smile on her face. "So I'd better sort out the answer, huh?" She reached over and tipped his chin up, making him look at her. "Shit happens, sometimes. You look at someone, and you _know_ you shouldn't, but you _do_ , and... well..." She shrugged. "I guess I don't have anything better than that. I like you, Rukh. You make me feel good. I hope I do the same for you."

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. It wasn't the answer he was looking for, but he supposed it would have to do.

"Now how about you come back over here," she said, reaching for the blanket that had kept them warm. "You're _much_ more snuggly than my bear at the moment." Chuckling, the Uruk crawled to her bedroll and let her cover them both. "Relax," she said softly. "Don't over-think things. Just go with it."


	20. A Lot to Learn

Romana pitched another handful of dirt onto the smoking coals of their campfire and glanced up. Rukh still lay groaning on the ground, holding his privates and grimacing.

Shaking her head, she said conversationally, "When I say _no_ , I mean _no_." He managed a growl in response, but little else. " _I'm not in the mood_ means keep your hands to yourself."

"Bitch," he hissed.

"What did I say, when we started on this adventure?" she snapped. "I want to explore, see new things, do fun stuff."

"Fucking _is_ fun," he snarled.

"Yeah, but if _all_ we do is fuck the hell out of each other, we'll never get anywhere, will we?" She tossed a clod of dirt past his head. "Even _that_ gets old after awhile, you know."

"Prove it," he snapped. "Bore me with fucking. I dare you."

"No time, smart ass," she said, standing and stretching. "Sun's coming up, and I want to be on my way. You can hobble along when you've recovered." She picked up her pack and settled it on her back. It probably wouldn't be so heavy or awkward if the lute wasn't inside, but that was a price that had to be paid. She'd hauled it every step of the way since Rivendell, and she wasn't about to abandon it now.

Without a backward glance, Romana took off.

Rukh struggled to sit up straight, but resisted the urge to check the condition of his privates. He thought it would be easy from here on out. The seemingly insurmountable hurdle of seducing her had been cleared remarkably fast, from his point of view. He'd reasoned that if she was _that_ willing to bed something like _him_ , maybe there was some truth in his fellows' joking after all. He'd assumed that, now that she'd had a taste of him, she would be hungry for more.

Except that she apparently _wasn't_.

And what the hell was a _mood_?

Forcing himself to stand, Rukh grabbed his pack and stomped after the woman. It wasn't getting any better; now he was watching her backside sway invitingly as she walked. Remembering his hands clutching said backside only hours ago. He shook his head to clear it.

In moments, his long strides, even labored by his discomfort, brought him up behind Romana. She glanced back at him with narrowed eyes, but said nothing.

Lips curling in a sneer, he noticed her bear's head poking out of her pack. He darted up and snatched the toy, then ran off.

"Hey!" Romana yelled, and was quickly in hot pursuit. She knew she'd never catch up to that idiot. She well remembered the _last_ time the Uruk-hai led her on a merry chase across Rohan, and she didn't relish another round of it this morning. "Give it back, you jerk!"

To her surprise, she caught up to him easily. Either his groin was a little tender, hindering his speed, or he _let_ her catch him. Either way, when she made a grab for him, he twisted, and she found herself tangled up in his limbs, rolling across the ground. Not giving up, she scrambled up his body and reached for the bear as he held it above his head.

The little shit was _laughing_ at her! Infuriated, Romana pounded on his chest. "Give it back!" she repeated.

In a moment, he rolled, and she was on her back, the bear tossed away. He grabbed her wrists and pinned her down. His legs roughly parted hers, and his hot breath covered her face as he gasped, "Yes, fight me, it is better when you fight."

Her body went rigid, and she squeezed her eyes shut. A wave of the visions Sauron had given her flooded through her mind in a torrent, and she whimpered as tears threatened. She hadn't wanted to believe he would do those things to her. He _promised_!

Rukh shook his head and snorted. The stench of her fear was overwhelming. Why in the world would it offend his nostrils _now_? He's always reveled in it before. Yet he was aroused, desperately in need of her body. He ground his hips against her, growling low in his throat.

"Please," she begged, her voice thick and rasping, "get off me. Please, Rukh. _Please_."

Something in her tone unsettled him completely, and he slowly retreated. Once free of his weight, Romana curled up on her side and wept, hugging herself.

This was wrong, he realized. He had done something very wrong. Unsure what to do to fix it, he cast about until he saw her bear. Rukh grabbed the toy and pressed it against her chest, then scooted back several feet. Hugging his knees, he watched her gradually calm enough to notice and embrace the bear.

After a few minutes, Romana's choking sobs diminished to occasional hiccups, and she sat up. She held the bear against her as a shield and glowered at Rukh.

"You're a complete _ass_ ," she snarled.

He winced. "You accepted me last night. Why not now?"

"Think about it, moron," she retorted. "And you'd better savor the memory, because you won't be getting so much as a _sniff_ again."

"I do not understand," Rukh growled. Fuming, he snapped, "Why are you different? I have seen your face and smelled your fear on others, and I never stopped before."

"Yeah, well maybe you just recently decided to stop being a dick," she bit back. "Oh wait, didn't work out for you, did it? I guess it's back to being a dick."

"You... you tried to tame me!" he roared, pointing a clawed finger accusingly. "I do not like being tamed by a female!"

"I didn't hear your ass complaining last night!" she cried. "Rolled right onto your back and took it like a man, as I recall. Moaned and grunted your approval, in fact."

"You made _me_ the female," he snarled.

Romana burst out laughing. "Oh, honestly!"

His scowl deepened. "I did not like it."

Snickering, she shook her head. "You fake orgasms better than _I_ do, then."

The Uruk wasn't laughing. Sighing, she firmed her mouth and looked expectantly at him. "You can admit liking it, you know. There's no shame in it."

He looked away. "It was... good," he muttered sullenly. Then he growled, "I did not _want_ it to be good."

"Do you trust me?" she asked, and he looked sharply at her. "Rukh, if you trust me, you can be yourself, and like what feels good, no matter what you think anyone else will think of it. You don't have to strut around like a macho jerk. If I made you feel good, admit it and move on."

"But... did I not make _you_ feel good?"

"You did," she nodded. "Moreso when _I_ was on top, if you recall. It wasn't quite as good the other way around. You have a lot to learn, Rukh."

"Do you trust _me_?" he asked awkwardly.

"Not as much as I did."


	21. The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men

"Oh god, Rukh," Romana breathed. "I'm _so_ sorry."

The Uruk slid to his knees, stricken by what he saw below. The River Isen, once so clear and boisterous, was little more than a stagnant stream, choked with debris and bodies. So many bodies. Though they were at least fifty yards away, it was still possible to see that some of the bloated, blackened corpses were missing limbs or heads.

He wanted to vomit, or weep, or curse. Maybe all three at once. He hadn't really seen it, after the battle. He'd been wounded, in shock, and distracted by this strange woman and her weird conversation. When they left the keep, all the bodies were gone, the battlefield stripped of any evidence that he was the last. But here, tangled in the wreckage of his Master's folly, left to rot in the sun, the last remnant of a once proud race...

Kneeling beside him, Romana rubbed the center of his back. It was about all she could think to do. She had a feeling any further apologies would be met with a display of fury like she hadn't seen since the battle. When he bowed his head and his shoulders shook with impotent tears, she looked away to spare him being seen in such a state.

The carnage seemed to stretch for miles up and down the river, as if the Ents did their level best not only to kill everyone they found, but sweep them out of the valley entirely. The broken remains of scaffolding and guard towers had washed up on the banks. An eddy just below them was filled with bodies. Everywhere she looked, still forms lay contorted in various poses, tumbled over falls and over rocks, beaten and pushed to create dams and breaks along the wide, muddy river.

It was the most hideous sight she'd ever seen. But as her eyes scanned the disaster area, something kept pulling her back to one spot. There it was again.

"Holy shit, Rukh, there's someone moving down there."

Both of them vaulted to their feet and sprinted down to the water's edge, heedless of what _else_ they were coming up on. Romana focused her eyes on that feeble movement, the body that seemed to be trying so desperately to free itself from the muddy slurry that had trapped its legs.

"Grab his arm," Romana ordered, taking the Uruk's other arm. Together, they lifted the survivor up and dragged him several yards up the bank, then lowered him carefully. Rukh turned him over.

The Uruk probably would have been terrifying if he had his war face on. At the moment, though, he was barely alive, still in shock from the horrifying events of only two days ago, and couldn't comprehend for several moments that he _was_ alive.

"Crap on a stick, it stinks down here," Romana hissed, covering her nose and mouth with her arm. The survivor glanced at her, then did a double-take.

"Human?" he rasped uncertainly, then looked back at Rukh for verification.

"It is all right," he rumbled gently, "She won't bite."

"Let's get him back up the rise," Romana said. "Build a fire, get him warmed up."

Nodding, Rukh pulled the unresisting Uruk to his feet, and supported most of his weight. The pathetic creature was so weak he could barely shuffle his feet forward and almost didn't make it up the gentle incline. Romana ran ahead and immediately set to work on a firepit.

"Get his clothes off," she instructed without turning around. "He's soaked to the skin." Rukh hesitated for a moment, then obeyed, helping the Uruk peel off the rotted remains of his clothing. Then he dug a blanket out of his pack and wrapped it warmly around the shivering survivor's shoulders.

"While I'm at this, you get down there and see if there are any others," Romana said briskly. "I assume that nose of yours knows a live Uruk from a dead one."

"If any live, I will find them," he promised, then took off back down the rise.

"So," she said once she was alone with the Uruk, "what's your name?"

"Mmuh-Mog," he stuttered. "Wh-why? Why hhhh-elp?" His teeth were chattering so badly, he was having difficulty speaking. Romana stepped up the fire-building effort.

"I don't murder orcs," she stated matter-of-factly. "I don't care what you did yesterday or last week. You're damn near dead now, and I'm not the kind of person who helps you along in that way." Leaning close to the pile of brush and leaves, she blew gently on the tiny spark. The kindling caught quickly, and Romana hastened to fetch dry wood.

A few minutes later, Rukh was dragging another sodden Uruk up the hill. He dropped the survivor next to the fire she was carefully tending, then headed back down to the river. Romana fetched another blanket and saw to stripping and wrapping the new arrival. He was in considerably worse shape than the first, barely conscious, breath rattling in his chest. If these two escaped contracting pneumonia, it would be a miracle, she thought.

Brow creased with worry over her charges, she almost missed Rukh's bellowing cry.

"Romana!"

Bolting to her feet, she ran down the hill. She could just make out his Rohirrim-mail-clad form, holding something near the waterline amongst a huge pile of debris, likely from a siege engine. His legs were braced as if he supported whatever it was entirely with his own strength.

"What... oh my god," she breathed, slowing to a halt. Though his head was barely above the water, and only one arm and shoulder showed, she could tell it was a berserker, even without the tight-fitting helmet.

"I cannot hold him," Rukh hissed through clenched teeth. "Foot... trapped."

Shaking herself, Romana waded out into the foul water, swallowing revulsion and fear. Guessing where the Uruk's feet might be, she dived and felt around blindly. Coming up for air, she reassessed with a slightly clearer head, and dived once more. This time she found one of his legs, and ran her hands down to where his foot was wedged tightly between two beams. Rising again, she took another deep breath, and went back. She braced herself between the beams, for they separated further upstream. If he hadn't had the current and the other beams at the surface blocking him, he could have freed himself. Pushing the beams apart with all her strength, she felt them give. The Uruk felt it too, and pulled himself free. Romana resurfaced and gasped for breath.

The berserker wasn't in the clear yet. His lower body was sandwiched between a section of flooring from the siege engine and a thick beam. Without his wedged foot pulling him down further, he was able to inch up a little and hold on.

"I can't," Romana said desperately. "I'm not strong enough."

"Keep him above the water," Rukh said firmly. Switching places, she grabbed the berserker's free arm and wrapped it around her neck. While this put her more than uncomfortably close to the delirious Uruk's face, she reminded herself that he wasn't the one who charged her. He was just the same as the other two.

Rukh nearly ruptured something in his desperation to free one of his brothers, and while he knew he'd be sore come morning, he still breathed a sigh of profound relief when the berserker slipped out of his entrapment. Supporting the huge Uruk between them, they quite literally dragged his unresisting, exhausted form up to the campfire.

They were running out of blankets. The last one they had was now draped over the immobile berserker. Rukh no sooner made sure the Uruk was properly taken care of, than he hastened back to the river looking for others. All the while, Mog watched her fussing over them, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

When Rukh finally returned with one more thoroughly done in Uruk draped over his shoulders, he was ready to quit himself. He nearly wept with guilt, but he couldn't find any more energy to keep going on. He was utterly spent.

"I can do no more," he gasped. "There are so many... I can't smell any other living ones, but... there are so _many_..."

"You've done more than anyone could expect. I swear, Rukh, if you and I hadn't come along, they'd all be dead now. You saved these four. Maybe that's all we get."

"It isn't enough," he growled.

"You know whose fault this is," she said evenly.

"It is filthy whiteskins like _you_ ," Mog suddenly snarled. Though he shivered in the blanket Rukh gave him, one that no doubt smelled a lot like a whiteskin, he still had enough Uruk in him to protest.

"Well, _this_ whiteskin is trying to help you," Romana said gently. "And I was talking about your stupid-ass Master. If he hadn't gotten ambitious beyond his station, you lot wouldn't be here. Not born, probably, and certainly not washed up like trash on the shoreline. He used you to get what _he_ wanted, and the people he hurt in the process didn't take kindly to it. You guys got caught in the crossfire."

Mog looked away. He was so tired. So very tired. He'd floated down the river for two days, too broken in body and spirit to do more than ride the current, not even attempt to get to the shore. When he finally made it, the earth sucked him in, but only enough to keep him locked in place, half in, half out. All the while, the river fought to right itself, getting deeper, rising around him. In another day, it would likely have engulfed him once more, and he wouldn't have had the strength or the will to fight it.

"I do not care," he whispered, and laid down. "I do not care anymore."

Romana let him be. Turning to the second one Rukh brought up, she made sure he was still breathing and was starting to warm up. The fourth was so out of it, his glassy eyes didn't even register that he saw her hovering over him. His lips moved constantly, as if he were counting under his breath, or praying. She stripped his clothing off as well, but all she had left to cover him with was Rukh's spare clothes.

The last one she checked was the berserker. He was recovering more swiftly than the others, but that wasn't saying much. He still lay in a naked pile, the blanket barely large enough to cover him from neck to feet. Swallowing hard, she looked down and met his eyes.

To her complete surprise, he didn't look angry. In fact, if an Uruk could look peaceful, this one did. When he saw her, his overlarge mouth split in a big grin.

"Hi," she said uneasily. "Are you okay?"

He nodded.

"What's your name?"

His brow furrowed then relaxed. "No name," he grunted in a deep, growling voice.

"You don't remember?"

Shaking his head, he repeated, "No name."

"No one ever gave you a name?" she asked, dumbfounded. He nodded vigorously and repeated the same two words. "Why not?"

His eyebrows rose with surprise. He raised an unsteady hand to tap his breastbone. "Fight. Die. No name."

Quite suddenly, she was reminded of the twenty-something man who sometimes bagged her groceries back home. He was mentally challenged, probably with the mental capacity of an eight-year-old, and always _so_ desperate to please. Yet she never truly felt sorry for him, not like she would a homeless person, for instance. He was well cared for, had a decent job, and coworkers and customers who looked out for him. She sometimes saw his dad pick him up or drop him off, and he always got a hug coming and going.

It broke her heart, thinking of that kid swapping places with this berserker, exploited for his weakness, abused, feared, likely ridiculed... yet so desperate to please, he would do _anything_ he was told to do. Even die.

"Saruman," she breathed, "you are the biggest asshole Valinor has ever produced."


	22. Two's Company, Six is a Volleyball Team

"Let's get these two together," Romana said, eying the unconscious Uruk and the catatonic one critically. "They're just not warming up."

Lurching to his feet, Rukh wearily stumbled over and helped her drag the two closer to the fire. They laid them back to back, then covered them with the blanket. Once the two were settled, Rukh sat back down and watched as Romana dug through her pack.

"Here," she said, handing a strip of dried meat to Mog. "It's probably not very good. We didn't leave the keep with much..." Her voice trailed off.

The Uruk began to shake, his face to contort. He slowly reached up and took the food from her, then squeezed his eyes shut and began to weep. As he ate, he rocked on his haunches, his shoulders hunched forward, body trembling with desperate hunger.

"We're gonna need a bigger boat," she muttered to herself. Turning to the berserker, she handed him some meat as well. He accepted it with a smile.

"You know, I can't help wondering," she said to him. "You had to have been stuck there for what, two days? Why did you... I mean, your whole thing is to run into battle and get killed, right?"

Swallowing a mouthful, he said sternly, "Not fighting. No fight, no die."

She nodded. "I see. Not allowed to, huh?"

"No fight, no die," he repeated.

"Do you know what it means? To die?" she asked quietly.

Shrugging, he held his arm upright, then let it fall sideways, like a tower toppling. He shrugged again, and resumed eating. Romana went to sit with Rukh.

"I've half a mind to march into Isengard and give Saruman a piece of my mind," she growled in an undertone.

"He lives?" Mog asked suddenly. "Master is alive?"

Romana nodded. "He's pretty much being held in his tower, power stripped, all his toys broken, but yes, he's alive. Probably still throwing a tantrum, I expect."

"We failed," he muttered. "He will punish us."

"You know something, Mog?" Romana said harshly. " _Fuck_ him, all right? You don't owe him a god damned thing. I would _love_ to drag him out here and rub his nose in that mess down in the river, but it doesn't work on dogs that shit on the floor, so I doubt it'll work on him."

"He is our Master," Mog insisted. "He _made_ us."

"He supposedly made you _smarter_ ," Romana growled. "Better, stronger, faster. What're you gonna do with all those brains, huh? Go crawling back to him? Lick his boots? Kiss his ass? After _this_?" She gestured furiously back toward the river. "I barely credit him with making his own _shit_ , much less you guys. And he certainly treated you about the same. And would you look at that – flushed down the fucking toilet, every last one of you!"

"What choice do we have?" Mog snarled. "We serve our Master, or we are _dead_."

Romana flinched, then sagged. "You're right," she said quietly. "You _don't_ have a choice, do you? You're orcs. Orcs serve the Shadow. Even if you _wanted_ to do something else... no one would believe you, would they?"

"No, they would not," he snapped. "Whiteskins will always kill us without question, just as we kill them."

Nodding, she glanced at Rukh. "What about him, then? How do you explain him?"

Mog's brow furrowed, and he looked at Rukh. "What do you mean?"

"She took me prisoner," Rukh replied. "At Helm's Deep. Brought me all the way into the keep with the wounded men."

Mog's jaw fell open. "They did not... slay you."

"Oh, don't be fooled," Romana grinned. "Plenty of them _wanted_ to, but they had to go through me first." Puffing up importantly, she joked, "Wouldn't want to poke the bitch in the eye. That'll just get you in trouble."

Rukh chuckled. "The wyrm bites."

"You bet your ass," she agreed.

"I do not understand," Mog said uncertainly. "You took him _prisoner?"_

"Well, I _had_ to call it _something_ ," Romana said. "Humans don't really have much sympathy for orcs. I had to do a lot of fast talking, but obviously, it all worked out."

"Are you prisoner still?" he asked Rukh.

"That depends," the Uruk replied. "I carry a weapon, and I am somewhat free. But if I leave her side, and I am found by whiteskins, I am dead. So... yes and no."

"It sucks," she said bluntly. "Really. But that's kind of how it has to be. If you guys behave yourselves, you're more than welcome to enjoy the same protection."

Rukh glanced sharply at her and scowled. "Not... welcome to _all_ the same things?"

Romana gave him a withering glance but otherwise ignored him. "Mog, what was your job? What kinds of things did you do?"

"I built structures," he shrugged. "Siege engines, scaffolding, towers, winches, cranes."

"Excellent!" Romana crowed, rubbing her hands together. "That's a hell of a good skill to have, you know. I want to get you boys away from the river a good distance, then I think we need to set up some temporary shelters. Those two aren't going to be any help, but if you tell us what to do," she said, indicating Rukh, the berserker and herself, "we'll get something set up."

Mog narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Because it'll suck big time to be stuck out in the open when it rains, don't you think?" she suggested a little impatiently. "Mog, I know you don't trust me, and frankly, I don't entirely trust _you_ either. But we've sort of been thrown together, and it looks like we're stuck for a while."

"You could just leave us," he growled quietly, looking away. He gestured to include the other three. "We are done."

"Not a chance," Romana said firmly. "Call it a need to adopt homeless orcs, but I'm not leaving you guys on your own, not if there's a chance you'll be like him." She jerked her thumb at Rukh.

"What is he like?" Mog snarled. "Is he your pet?"

"No, he's decided to be a good boy," she replied. "He's not doing the things Saruman wanted him to do. He'd rather live than die."

"We are not able to disobey our Master," the survivor said dully.

"Sure you are," she insisted. "Do you hear his Voice in your head anymore?"

Mog frowned and looked away, concentrating, _listening._ His frown deepened.

"His Voice is silenced," Rukh told him. "I stopped hearing it after the battle was lost."

"He was probably shocked speechless," Romana laughed. "Whoa, they _beat_ them? What the fuck?" Snickering and shaking her head, she tossed a stick on the fire. "Hubris, you know. Go into something thinking you can't possibly fail, and wow, what a shocker when you _do_."

"It is not funny," Rukh growled.

Sobering, she shook her head. "No, it isn't. I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at _you_. I'm laughing at Saruman. Did _he_ ever back the wrong horse. And I'm talking _Sauron_ , not the Uruk-hai." Standing up and brushing herself off, she looked with concern at Mog. "Why don't you get some rest? We'll keep watch. You're safe."

The Uruk shrugged disinterestedly, as if he didn't care whether they protected him or not, but lay down again and curled up in the blanket. Fatigue and despair claimed him quickly, and he was soon snoring quietly.

Romana did the rounds, checking first on the two they'd put together. The shivering was reduced considerably, and their breathing was more even. Making her best guess regarding their body heat based on what she knew of Rukh, she decided they were a little feverish, but not dangerously so. Rukh watched her with growing anger as she touched their faces so gently, even putting her lips to their foreheads. He didn't understand she was merely assessing their temperatures, and thought it was more. When she left them and turned to the berserker, his scowl deepened.

He would have expected the most fear for this one, remembering how disturbed her dreams had been. Yet she coddled the giant like a child, tucking him in warmly, caressing _his_ face as well. A jealous rage caught fire when he saw the berserker turn his cheek into her palm and close his eyes.

On her way back to his side, she checked on the pair once more. Her worried expression only infuriated him more, and he began to quiver.

"I don't much like what I'm feeling," she commented quietly as she sat down next to him. "Those two are in really rough shape. We've _got_ to get something into them, even if it's only broth. Our rations are going to bottom out in a day or two, as well. Do you think you can do some hunting in the morning? Bring in something fresh?"

Jaw clenched, he snarled, "Yes. I will hunt. In the morning."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "We'll have to get everybody away from here soon. Find a clean river or something. We don't have much water with us, and that shit'll kill us."

He nodded stiffly, staring at the fire.

"Do you think... there might be others?" she ventured. "Maybe further upriver?"

Shrugging, he grabbed a green, pliant stick and started twisting it to pieces.

"Would you like to share with the class what crawled up your ass and died?" she snapped.

He just glared at her for a moment and went back to his stick. Each piece he ripped off, he threw into the flames. Rolling her eyes, Romana hugged her knees and let him stew.

A whimper caught her attention, and she looked over. Mog was shaking like a leaf beneath his blanket, breathing hard and twitching convulsively. It seemed his body's natural sleep paralysis was fighting against his instinctive need to flee. One was going to lose the battle soon. Rising hastily, Romana went to his side and soothed his brow, whispering quietly to him. Rukh glowered at them.

All at once, Mog woke with a start, gasping for breath as if he'd been drowning. He sat up and looked around in a panic.

"It's okay, Mog," Romana said gently, gripping his shoulder.

Even with the reassurance that he was _not_ in the river's clutches, that trees were _not_ trying to rip his limbs off, he didn't feel that the reality was much better at this point. Dropping his face into his hands, he wept. Romana was so moved by his hopelessness, she embraced him, and guided his head to her shoulder. Rubbing his back, she continued to whisper calmly to him, rocking him until he gave in and gripped her body fiercely, desperately.

She was just considering letting him have her bear for awhile, when he was suddenly yanked out of her arms by the hair.

Rukh was in a towering rage now. Once he had the weakened Uruk off her, he dropped to one knee across Mog's stomach and pummelled his face.

"Stop it right now!" Romana cried, pulling on Rukh's arms, trying to interrupt the beating. The only thing she could think to do was what he'd done, and grabbed fistfuls of his hair. Hauling back with all her strength, she finally broke through, and managed to get him off of Mog.

"What the _fuck_ was that?" she shrieked. "Mog, I am _so_ sorry. Are you all right?" She knelt beside him and checked him over. He had some bruises, a split lip, and a fresh cut over his eye, but was otherwise okay.

"Don't... understand," Mog gasped. "Did... nothing."

"I know," she agreed. "You're fine. He's just... having a moment. Stress. A little freaked out. I'll talk to him. You relax, okay?"

Settling him down, she rose and gestured peremptorily for Rukh to accompany her, then stomped out into the darkness beyond the firelight.

Whirling on Rukh, she snarled, "I am _so_ impressed. Beating up the weak. Wouldn't your Master be _proud_."

"He embraced you!" Rukh retorted. "He would take more if offered, and _you_ _offered it_."

"Oh, be serious," she scoffed.

"Have you such a taste for orc flesh, you will fuck any that come before you?" he snarled.

Her eyebrows shot up and her jaw worked soundlessly for several seconds before she found her voice. " _What_?"

"I have seen you," he growled. "Touching them, kissing them, whispering to them. When their strength returns, you will fuck them as you did me."

"You're out of your fucking mind," she breathed, shaking her head. "You're _jealous_? Is _that_ what this is about?"

" _I_ claimed you!" he roared. "You belong _to me!_ I do _not_ share!"

"That's all well and good, _asshole_ , but you forgot one tiny little thing," she snarled, folding her arms over her chest defiantly. " _You_ are not the only orc in Rohan."

"So you will find and fuck every one? Is that your plan?"

She slapped him across the face. "I gave you something _very_ special, _very_ precious. I do _not_ give it to everyone I meet. I have _no plans_ to give it to any of _them_. I _meant_ they need my _help_. _Our_ help. Stop being an ass and _help them_."

"But...," he said, his voice nearly whimpering with confusion and hurt, "you cared for _me_ , as you care for them."

Closing her eyes for a moment, she counted silently, trying to calm down. She had to remind herself that this was likely completely foreign territory for Rukh. "Yes. I cared for you. And now I'm taking care of them. But it's _not_ the same. My feelings for you are... complicated, but not anything like what I feel for them. Rest assured, I have no desire to... fuck them."

She frowned and looked away. In all truth, she wasn't sure she liked the sound of that word when applied to Rukh, either.

"Then... you _are_ mine," he said. "My mate?"

"If that means I only... have sex with you, then _yes_ , I'm your mate," she confirmed tightly. "But it _also_ means _you_ only have sex with _me_ , are we clear? Any other women or female orcs show up, you keep it in your pants, you got that?"

Rukh stared at her blankly for a few seconds. The pleasure he felt at hearing her say _I'm your mate_ was shoved aside by the completely stupid and unbelievable statement that followed. As if other human women were commonplace out here, and he stood a better chance of getting within sniffing distance of them than he did a rabid warg. Then he noticed that the corners of her mouth twitched as if she fought to conceal a grin. He relaxed, and smiled a little.

"No woman would have me," he rumbled quietly. "And orc females are ugly bitches. I would not be interested."

Giggling, Romana slipped her arms around his neck. "As long as we understand each other." She brushed her lips over his, and he rested his hands on her hips.

"Are you in the mood now?" he whispered, capturing her lips briefly.

Sighing, she leaned her forehead against his. "I'm sorry, Rukh, but I'm exhausted, and we both smell like the world's stinkiest river. It's kind of a mood killer."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, failing completely to hide his disappointment. "Will you ever want me as you did last night?"

"Of course I will," she replied. "When you're not being an ass, and I'm fairly certain the kids aren't watching..."

Rukh chuckled, chasing and finding her mouth once more. "Let them. Perhaps it will give them hope."

She gave herself up to his kiss for a moment before whispering with amusement, "And you _just_ told me you don't want them getting any from me, now you want them to have _hope_."

"Not hope to possess _you_ ," he clarified. "They must pursue their _own_ mates. I want only to give them hope of living long enough to do so."

"Very generous of you," she murmured, and claimed his mouth for her own.

* * *

Lying on his side by the fire, Mog's eyes were narrowed as he tried to figure out what he was seeing in the shadows. The two figures hissed and spat at one another like angry cats, then their voices diminished to murmurs. Now the figures had converged, and no words could be heard.

If he had not seen his attacker depart with the woman, he would have thought she met a man beyond the firelight. It was most definitely Rukh in the darkness with Romana, but the slow movements looked nothing like what he was accustomed to seeing when one of his brothers took a human female for pleasure.

This was more like what he'd witnessed once when accompanying a party into a village of Dunlendings, meeting with the headman to conscript men for the coming conflict. There had been many tears shed by the females, and several embraced their mates for the last time. He'd been curious about the intimacy shared, for he never saw these men treat the horsemen's women with such tenderness.

But Rukh was an Uruk, Romana a human. How could his eyes not be lying to him?


	23. One Little Orc: What Could It Hurt?

The sun was just peeking over the horizon when Romana stirred. The stench from the river was even worse today, it seemed. Grimacing, she rose and stretched.

Mog and the berserker were still asleep. She could see Rukh returning from his watch, looking forlorn. She suspected he'd gone downriver a bit, but apparently came up empty-handed. It had just been too many days since the disaster occurred. There wasn't much hope of any other survivors.

Turning to the pair huddled together, she knelt beside them and checked their condition. The mumbling one hadn't changed, though he was quieter now. His fever was getting higher, she noted. Sweat stood out on his forehead and upper lip, and he shivered. Then she looked at the other one.

She knew something was wrong at once. He was so still... When she hesitantly reached out and touched his face, she yanked her hand back. He was ice cold; probably died hours before.

"Oh god," Romana breathed, then she dissolved into tears. After a moment, she felt Rukh beside her, felt his arms embrace her. Leaning against him, she wept inconsolably for several minutes.

Looking past her, Rukh met Mog's eyes and shook his head. The weakened Uruk slowly approached and gazed impassively at the dead one. He sank to his knees beside Romana.

"He is the lucky one," Mog murmured. "Why do you weep for him? One less... what does it matter?"

"It's not over yet," Romana snarled fiercely, detaching from Rukh's side and roughly wiping her face. "Rukh, you go hunt. Take my crossbow. Get us something... anything... I don't give a shit what it is."

"What will you do with him?" Rukh asked.

"Bury him. Unless... what do orcs do with their dead? Is there some kind of ritual we should perform... a prayer? Anything?" Her eyes flicked between the two Uruk-hai pleadingly.

They glanced at one another, then shrugged. "Perhaps orcs do," Rukh replied, "but we are Uruk-hai. There is nothing for us. Just... left to rot." Even as he said it, and saw the distraught look on Romana's face, he realized how terrible that admission was, how much his Master kept from them. Did he think something so apparently basic as mourning the dead was unimportant? Unnecessary? Or just not something he wanted to waste his time on, because it didn't' further _his_ foul agenda?

"Go on, Rukh," Romana sniffled. "I'll do... something."

Nodding, the Uruk rose, fetched her crossbow, and hurried off into the plains in search of game.

Taking a few deep breaths to get her emotions under control, Romana dragged her sleeve across her eyes. There was such a huge difference between looking at the face of this dead Uruk, and those she'd seen so many times before. Just as different as facing Rukh during battle and afterwards.

"Can you... help me move him?" she asked Mog.

"Yes," he replied quietly.

Together, they carried the dead Uruk over to a copse of trees nearby, then the woman was suddenly faced with the challenge of burial. They didn't have shovels or even broadswords. The ground was still too hard from winter to be broken bare-handed.

"Forgive me, Galadriel," she muttered, drawing the blue-glowing blade. Mog took an alarmed step backwards.

"Why does it... glow?" he breathed.

"It doesn't like orcs," she replied, then knelt and started stabbing at the ground with fury. The frozen earth was no match for the enchanted blade, and soon she had several furrows dug.

Mog watched her dig for a long time before turning away and wandering back to the fire. He was hungry and cold and just didn't care. The berserker had woken and was warming himself by the fire. Mog joined him.

"Die?" the berserker asked. The Uruk nodded, but said nothing.

The berserker shook his head. "Master mad. No fight, no die." He sighed. "Master mad."

Mog's face crumpled, and he wept.

* * *

It took hours for Romana to dig a shallow trench to accommodate the Uruk's body. Though repulsed and nauseous every time she went, she nonetheless determinedly trekked from the copse down to the river bank and back, hauling stones to build a cairn over him. The thought of the Uruk being eaten by wargs, some she could see feasting downriver in the distance, made her ill and angry. _Not_ _ **this**_ _one. You can't have_ _ **this**_ _one_.

By the time she had him comfortably nestled in his grave, Rukh was returning with a deer slung over his shoulders. It was still late in the winter season, too early for most game animals to have returned from their winter homes. He was lucky to have found this one.

Thoroughly done in, she let the Uruks dress the deer while she sat vigil over the other sleeper. Now alone in his blanket, the cold corpse removed, he seemed to be warming again, and wasn't quite as chilled. She couldn't seem to stop smoothing his brow, so afraid that if she stopped touching him, he'd die like the other one.

"I found another river, about a league east."

Looking up with red-rimmed eyes, Romana nodded. Rukh sat beside her.

"I think there are others, upriver," he went on quietly. "I saw... movement, anyway."

"More?" she said hopefully, searching his face.

"I did not get close," he confessed. "If they are like these were, it would be safe, I think. But if not... I did not wish to take a chance."

"A lot of them, or just a few?"

"A lot."

"Then... we should join them," she said firmly. "Safety in numbers. More mouths to feed, granted, but more hands to hunt, as well."

Rukh was silent for a moment, then said in an undertone, "I fear for you, if we do."

"Honestly, Rukh, I don't think anyone's in the mood," she said wearily.

"Maybe they will not rape you, but they might wish to eat you," he growled.

"Oh yeah," she replied, a little unsettled. "I guess... there's that." Then she shook her head determinedly. "Doesn't matter. We'll just have to take the chance. If I'm not there... and someone else gets there first..." She blinked rapidly as more tears started to fall.

"I will go see them," he said. "Find out how many, and what condition they are in. Perhaps... we might help each other."

"Yeah," she nodded. "I don't want to bury any more of your brothers, Rukh." She leaned against him and he held her close, resting his cheek against the top of her head.

* * *

Joining Mog and the berserker by the fire after Rukh departed, Romana hugged herself and stared into the flames. There were several strips of meat warming on rocks lying in the coals, and a small pot of their precious water boiling away at some meat and bones for a broth. It was probably the only way they'd get anything into the comatose Uruk before starvation and dehydration took him as well.

"You wept," Mog suddenly said. "For him. Why?"

Sighing, she looked at the Uruk. "Still don't trust me?"

"I do not think I'd care if you cut my throat in the night," he said flatly. "Why did you weep for him?"

"Because he died."

"So did all those others," he said, waving his hand toward the river. "Did you weep for them as well?"

"No," she admitted, looking away. "They were already gone. There was nothing we could do. But that one... he was alive. He had a chance."

"He did _not_ have a chance," Mog insisted. "That one has no chance, either. He will die in another day, or sooner. Will you weep for him as well?"

She nodded, not sure she wasn't going to cry again now too.

"I do not understand," he growled. "It is not... Why? Why do you help us? Why do you weep for us? We are _enemies_. And why do you let him touch you?" He shook his head with frustration. "I do not understand."

"Mog," she said gently, reaching over and covering his hand with her own. "You've probably figured out that I'm... not like other girls." She paused to laugh a little. "I come from a place that doesn't have orcs. Not a single one. That makes me look at your people a little... differently from the locals. I can see you as... well, people, I guess."

"We are not _people_ ," he snarled, looking away. "We are _orcs_."

The berserker gazed intently at Romana, then pointed at her. "Master now?"

Startled, she drew back as if he'd threatened her. "N-no, I'm not your master. You don't have one anymore. You're free."

His face contorted in confusion. "No Master?"

"No master," she said, then smiled a little. "But we'll take care of you. You'll be okay." Turning to Mog, she asked, "What would be a good name for him?"

Blinking, he looked carefully at the berserker. "Foshân," he said firmly.

"Does it... mean something?"

Shrugging, Mog replied, "It is a _snaga_ word. We do not use it. No need. It means 'infant.'"

"That's about right," Romana said ruefully. "He's like a child, and he'll always be like this."

"He will not... get... smarter?" Mog asked uncertainly. "Like the rest of us?"

She shook her head. "No. This is how he was born, and how he'll always be. Your... fucking Master took advantage of it. Someone like _you_ would probably tell him to blow it out his ass if he told you to charge into the enemy without any armor on. But Foshân here...," she said, then paused, and her voice cracked. "He has no idea what it means. What would happen to him. I think... he only knows that he has to do whatever he's told."

"Fight," Foshân said, and grinned. "Foshân fight."

Smiling wanly, Romana rested her hand on his shoulder. "Foshân doesn't need to fight right now."

He frowned. "Foshân... die?"

"No," she said firmly. "You're not dying either. You're not allowed to die. Do you hear me? No dying."

His face relaxed. That was better. He was getting orders. "Foshân no die. Romana master. No die." Then he grinned, pleased with himself.

Romana exchanged a look with Mog. "You owe that asshole _nothing_ , Mog."


	24. Safety in Numbers

"That's it," Romana cooed softly. "Easy does it."

Mog stared at the woman cradling the Uruk in her arms as she spooned broth past his lips. Had the downed one not been so big, Mog might have imagined she held a child. He absently chewed on the deer meat that was his ration.

"You waste your time," he observed, his voice a low growl.

"It's not a waste of time," she replied without looking up. "He's actually accepting it. If he were in worse shape, he wouldn't."

"He whimpers," Mog pointed out.

"Probably thinks it's that foul river water," she said, chuckling quietly. "I'm not the best cook." What Mog said was true; the Uruk in her arms had been protesting, however feebly, ever since she began feeding him. He seemed to squeeze his eyes tighter, face contorted with a grimace, sometimes turning his head away. But she was determined, and had been relatively successful.

"Are you fucking Rukh?"

Romana's head jerked up and she met Mog's steady gaze with surprise. Composing herself, she said evenly, "Would it shock you if I was?"

The Uruk's forehead creased and his mouth twitched. "Nothing would shock me anymore." Scowling, he snarled, "He force you?"

She shook her head.

"So... you _want_ to bed him?" Mog asked incredulously.

"I didn't force _him,_ either," she said with a hint of amusement. Then she sighed. "Mog, believe it or not, I care for him. Maybe... in his own way... he... sort of cares for me, too. Whatever, the point is, he's important to me, and by extension, so are all of you."

"Are there more... like you?" he asked quietly, staring at his hands in his lap.

She bit her lip. "I don't know. I'm not... common, I guess. The way I think. But there _may_ be others who... well, my friends were all _relatively_ okay with me traveling in Rukh's company. They could have killed him. At least one of them threatened him with a really messy gutting if he hurt me. That was better than actually doing it, I thought." She smiled hopefully at him.

"It is difficult to imagine," he muttered. "Whiteskins letting one of us live. I have not seen it."

"Well, I'm not sure I've seen an orc letting a whiteskin live," she pointed out. "Not without doing some really cruel and nasty things to them first."

"We feed off misery," he snarled, wincing as if the admission were difficult to make. "It is easier to cause pain than stop it."

"That might be true," she conceded. "It wouldn't be easy for me, though. I was given an order to kill any orcs that survived the battle. When I actually found one, I couldn't do it." She shrugged at his confused look. "It's easier to kill when you'll die if you don't. Not so easy when your enemy can't attack you _or_ defend himself."

"Rukh?"

She nodded. "That blue knife of mine? It got stuck in his chest. I had to leave it in him to keep fighting. When I came back around, he was still alive. I could see him halfway across the battlefield, like he was wearing a sign," she chuckled. "Even though he looked pissed off and ready to kill me in a heartbeat... I couldn't kill _him._ For _me_ , it was easier to take the knife out and bind his injuries than to finish what I started."

"Then you are weak," Mog sneered.

"Am I?" she asked, eyebrow arched. "Do you have any idea how many current and future _kings_ I had to cajole into letting an _orc_ into the keep? Not to mention a wizard and several well-respected warriors representing each of the Free Peoples." Snorting derisively, she grumbled under her breath, "Weak. Honestly."

* * *

"How many?"

"I counted twenty," Rukh replied, brow furrowed. "Two are running things for the rest."

Romana was almost afraid to ask. "Did you talk to them? Can we... join them? Is it safe?"

"We have to," he growled. "They... do not know what to do. The two do not agree on what is to be done and argue constantly. Three are like _him_ , and do not waken." Sighing, he shook his head. "They do not believe me. They think... you will not help them."

"Then I've got to prove myself," she said firmly. "I've been thinking. First thing we have to do is get _everyone_ to that river you found."

"More of a stream," he corrected quietly.

"Doesn't matter; it's _clean_ , right?"

"Yes."

Narrowing her eyes and tilting her head, she asked, "Is everything okay?"

Rukh hesitated. "You will take over."

"If I have to," she said slowly. "Look, I understand they're not going to be... too receptive. I'll try not to... uh... be disrespectful. But this isn't about the over-inflated egos of a couple of orcs. There are lives at stake here. I'll just... gently remind them of that."

"It will make no difference," he replied carefully. There just wasn't any way he could tell her this without offending. "You are human, _and_ a female."

Nodding and shrugging, Romana said, "I'll be _extra_ respectful, then." At his skeptical look, she sighed. "This isn't exactly foreign territory for me, Rukh. Human men can be pretty annoyingly obstinant about gender roles too. Do you think the king of Rohan happily let me prance up to the armory and outfit myself without a fight? I had to convince his nephew that I knew which end of a sword to hold, too." She punched his shoulder and grinned. "I got this."

She didn't think it would help her case any if she mentioned having to deck said nephew, or the forty-five minute long argument with the king that reduced his niece to tears and made half his court _very_ uncomfortable.

"Foshân," she said, turning to the berserker, "can you carry him?"

Nodding enthusiastically, he said, "Foshân strong."

"Mog, you all right? Up to a hike?"

The Uruk shrugged.

"Okay, boys," Romana said, clapping her hands and rubbing them together vigorously. "Let's hit it."

* * *

It was worse than she thought. When they approached the ragged group, it almost looked like a really bad accident scene. None were on their feet; they were all just sitting or lying down. At least the three catatonic ones Rukh mentioned were lying together, sharing body heat. The rest looked like they'd been washed up on shore from a hurricane. Several were clutching wounded limbs, roughly bandaged with the remains of their clothing. She was rather glad she'd gotten used to seeing naked Uruk-hai moping around, because the field was filled with them. As soon as they saw Romana and her charges approaching, two lurched slowly to their feet and advanced. They passed each other just as wary and distrusting a look as they did her.

"Come to gloat?" the taller one snarled, crossing his arms over his chest and glowering. His fellow leader growled angrily.

"You ain't welcome, whiteskin."

Nodding, Romana said, "I understand. I just want to help."

"With what?" the first one barked, leaning forward threateningly. "Want to finish killing us?"

"I have no interest in killing any of you," she said evenly. "Or gloating over your misfortune. I'm here to _help_ you."

"I do not see how you can _help_ us," he snarled. Clearly, this one was the more outspoken of the two, and would likely win any fight for dominance that might ensue at some point. "Unless you intend to let us make a meal of you, I do not see..."

"She is not for eating!" Rukh roared, stepping up and pushing the other Uruk's shoulders roughly. For all that the first Uruk was about Rukh's height, he was weakened by illness, lack of food, and dehydration like the others were. Rukh, however, was at no such disadvantage, and nearly knocked the other Uruk on his backside.

"That's enough, Rukh," Romana hissed, grabbing his arm. "What's your name?"

"Burzash," the tall one snarled, eying Rukh angrily. Even Romana knew they were close to the bottom if Burzash wasn't responding to Rukh's challenge.

"And you?"

"Maukum," the second Uruk replied. "What can _you_ do, if not fill our bellies?"

"I didn't say I couldn't do _that_ ," Romana said. "For one, Rukh and I haven't been through hell like you guys. We're still strong and can hunt. If there are a few more of you who can help, that would make things easier."

"Hunt?" Burzash barked. "With what? Harsh words?"

"With this," Rukh said, pulling the crossbow from his back and showing it to them.

"You carry a man's weapon," the tall Uruk snarled, "and wear a man's armor. Have you forgotten what you are?"

"Oh, he hasn't forgotten anything, believe me," Romana snapped, and was slightly gratified by Rukh's uncomfortable startle. "Look, I don't want to take over your... authority or whatever, but there's a clean-running stream less than a league away. We need to get everyone moved over there or they'll all die. Understand?"

Burzash and Maukum blinked at her for several seconds.

"You are serious," Maukum said quietly.

"Yeah," she acknowledged, hands on her hips. "The longer you stand there gaping, the closer to death everyone gets. Now, how many are too weak to travel? We'll need to get the stronger ones to carry them."

"Foshân strong."

"Yes, I know... oh, crap," Romana said, turning to the berserker. "Um... put him down nice and gently, could you? This may take awhile, and you've carried him for quite a distance. I'm so sorry about that."

Ensuring the Uruk was settled comfortably on the ground, she directed her attention back to Burzash and Maukum. "Okay, we've got some deer meat..."

Both Uruk-hai stiffened and their eyes widened.

"Rukh, maybe you ought to see about passing out some rations," she suggested, handing him the pack. "Mog, you too."

Rukh handed over a couple of strips of venison to each leader, then he and Mog took the remainder out among the others. Maukum nearly inhaled the meat, while Burzash took one bite and stared at her, chewing thoughtfully.

"You intend to help us," he stated, as if it was just now really sinking in.

"Yes," Romana nodded. "If you want my opinion, it's a load of shit, what happened to you all, and I'm going to try and do the right thing while there's still someone around to do the right thing _for_."


	25. Two Sides to Every Argument

Burzash wasn't particularly happy with how things were playing out, but he kept his silence. Like it or not, the woman knew what she was doing, and he could find no fault in it. She herded the walkers, cajoling the less cooperative ones into getting up, and directed the strongest ones in carrying the sleepers. It seemed she trusted the one she brought with no one save Foshân, and the simpleton happily did whatever she said.

Then there was Rukh, or rather Rukhtorû, as he mentioned in passing. That one, rumor had it, survived the great battle against Rohan. Burzash hadn't heard the whole story, and curiosity burned in him to ask. They assumed none lived. But then, the same might be said of those left behind in the valley as well. It certainly felt as if they died. Perhaps they had, and no one saw fit to tell them of it yet.

"Are you all right?"

Startled, Burzash looked down into Romana's eyes. Snorting indelicately, he nodded. "Just thinkin'."

"It'll be slow going," she said, scanning the group critically as they started on their way to the stream. "We'll need to rest frequently. I thought we'd have to take several trips, but there are a few more in decent shape than I thought." Looking back at the leader, she smiled and patted his shoulder. "You did a good job."

He frowned uncertainly as she headed off to help a faltering Uruk with his burden. Maukum fell into step beside him.

"I've a mind to have a taste of that wench," Maukum muttered. "Get all the things I want out of it all in one go. Pay them whiteskins for what they done to us. Get a good fuck out of her. Round it up with a full belly."

Burzash bristled, but said nothing. Maukum was an idiot, and consistently failed to see the big picture. Burzash was only beginning to get a sense of it, and nurtured that larger understanding. Glancing behind, he could see the carrion feeders circling and crowing over the feast in the river. The woman mentioned sighting large predators downriver, heading their way. If they hadn't left when they did, they might have had a fight on their hands. Between Romana and Rukh, however, there were only four edged weapons and a crossbow. Those who had the strength to raise a weapon wouldn't be able to for long.

It would be a slaughter. And that fucking idiot wanted to _eat_ the one person capable of helping them who was actually willing to do so.

When the sun was high, the woman called a rest, and everyone sank to the ground gratefully. Burzash watched her fuss over the sleepers first, then turn her attention to the sick ones who could still walk. She had kind words and water for all of them, as well as meat. He sat chewing on his ration, wondering what she planned next. A shadow fell across him and he looked up at Rukh's scowling face.

"Stop looking at her," the stronger Uruk growled in an undertone. "I do not like it."

"What do you think is going through my mind, _pushdug_?" Burzash challenged. "Eh?"

"Better not have anything to do with her."

"It does," he snapped. "But I ain't looking to fuck her, if that's what you're worried about."

"Good," Rukh said, then after a moment, he sat down beside the leader. "She belongs to me."

"I guessed," Burzash replied. "She doesn't seem like the kind you can own, though."

Rukh grunted a laugh. "No. She is not."

"What's her plan? She let you know of it?"

He shook his head. "Probably doesn't have one." Appraising the other Uruk, Rukh asked, "You raid out here much?"

"Aye," Burzash nodded. "Ran with some wild men for our Master. Torched some villages. Killed some whiteskins."

"I did, also," Rukh said. "Took some females. You?"

Burzash nodded, wondering where he was going with this.

"I will tell you something," Rukh said quietly, as if this information was for Burzash's ears only. "It is better with a mate. One who _wants_ you."

Narrowing his eyes, the leader snarled, "Looks to me the only one in all the lands who _wants_ one of us as a mate has already claimed _you_. Why do you tell me this?"

"I thought you should know," Rukh shrugged. "If the opportunity ever comes to you. Be gentle. Do not take without asking. And...," he added, chuckling and ducking his head with slight embarrassment, " _no_ means _no_."

"Gentle," Burzash said with a sigh. "You ask much."

"It is not I who will ask," Rukh pointed out. "It will not be easy, I know. But you must do it." He looked earnestly at the leader. "I see better quality in you than Maukum. A stronger leader. One who would see our race live. Maukum... he would have us always at war."

"We would not survive another war," Burzash snarled bitterly. "We will be lucky to last another day."

"Romana will see to it," Rukh said confidently. "She is stubborn and clever."

Burzash shook his head. "It is difficult to trust a whiteskin," he said. "Master is one of them. Why he hated his own kind so, I do not understand. But I _do_ know they cannot be trusted."

"So they say of _us_ ," Rukh replied with a chuckle. "Master is no Man. He is a wizard. They are... different." He couldn't honestly remember the nonsense Romana spouted after the battle was over and she waited on yet another wizard to come, but he recalled at least _that_ much.

The leader snorted. "I do not see the difference. He looked like a whiteskin. _Smelled_ like a whiteskin. Treated us like _shit_. Like we were too stupid to understand what he was saying most of the time. His Dunlending allies were no different."

"Do you think I have forgotten?" Rukh snarled. "Hundreds of those fucking meatbags marched with us against their own kind. Bought and paid for with promises of land Master would see destroyed before they ever laid claim to it. _We_ knew; we who were too stupid to understand what was said. And we laughed at them. They had no idea why we were so amused."

Burzash chuckled and nodded. "Aye. Such treachery among whiteskins. It is fortunate we are not of their mind."

"We are of their blood, though," Rukh growled. "Remember that."

"How am I to forget, eh?" Burzash snarled, glowering at the Uruk. "They gave us their females, knowing the purpose of it. Maybe you were not used for breeding, but I was." He grimaced at his memories, some of them uncomfortable enough to make him wince. "You say, 'be gentle.' How can we be? You say, 'do not take without asking.' We have never asked."

"Now you must ask," Rukh replied. "And accept the answer."

"I know what it will be," the leader muttered. "We have destroyed what hope there might have been."

"Not all of it."

Startled, Burzash looked up at Romana. She smiled at him and sat down on his other side. She was tired, but pleased. They made it halfway to the stream without losing anyone.

"Someone once said, 'where there is life, there is hope,'" she said.

"Not much life left in us," Burzash growled. "You got a plan? Where we go from here?"

She nodded. "Still mulling it over. Thinking it through."

"When you gonna share it with the rest of us?" he snarled impatiently. She grinned at him.

"First thing's first, Burzash," she replied. "We get to the stream, start really cleaning these guys up. Rukh, I know you had your heart set on fancy dress parties in Bree, but I think we're going to have to sacrifice our extra clothes for bandages. These guys are festering in the filthy ones they've got on."

"Didn't have a choice," Burzash bristled.

"I'm not criticizing," she assured him. "You did what you could with what you had. The Ents didn't leave you with much."

"Should have cut down _more_ of them," he grumbled with little conviction.

"Now, now," Romana chided gently. "Cutting them down just pissed them off, and you know it."

The leader grunted. "We did what we were told to do."

"I know," she said, patting his knee. "Saruman should have known better."

"Romana," Rukh said cautiously. Her mention of Bree had worried him. "I am... sorry about all this. I know you had plans. This was not in them."

"Listen to me," she said, leaning forward to look at her mate. "Shit happens, and plans change accordingly. I don't even care about going to the beach now. Honestly. There are more important things at stake."

"You cannot mean _us_ ," Burzash said uncertainly.

"That's _exactly_ what I mean," she insisted. "You can't imagine what this means to me. Where I come from, there would be a _hell_ of a hue and cry over an army wiping out an entire ethnic group. What happened here would be considered a _crime_ , and people like Théoden and Treebeard would be put on trial for it. _And_ what's left of the Uruk-hai would be cared for. That's how it _should_ be."

The leader stared at her incredulously for several seconds. "Where the _fuck_ do you come from?"

"Nowhere near _here_ , that's for damn sure," she replied grimly. She patted his knee again. "Come on. We need to get this lot moving again. I want to be at that stream by nightfall."

* * *

"You're a sorry excuse," Maukum snarled under his breath as he stomped alongside Burzash. "Letting that female run things."

"She knows what she's doing," he snapped.

"She's a whiteskin, and she's likely leading us to our doom," the shorter Uruk pointed out.

"I would rather walk boldly to my doom than wait for it to sneak up on me," Burzash growled.

"We should take what weapons they have, she and her pet," Maukum grumbled. "Arm ourselves and find a village that ain't been plundered yet. _That's_ what we oughta be doing. Not tramping to some stream..."

"Are you stupid, or do you just act that way?" Burzash barked. "Look at us. Open your fucking eyes and _look_."

"Mind yourself," Maukum snarled in a low, menacing voice. "Seems to me you ain't in the best of shape yourself."

"Do you challenge me, then?"

Maukum chuckled. "I've eaten more than you have. Feeling stronger. Don't _you_ challenge _me_."

Burzash frowned and glared at the other leader. "How have you eaten more? We are each given..."

"There are half a dozen who will not make it to the stream as it is," Maukum growled. "Why waste meat on them?"

Seething, Burzash clamped his mouth shut. He wasn't strong enough to best the little bastard in a fight, though it was warranted. Telling Rukh of Maukum's treachery, letting someone else handle discipline, would make him weaker still.

"I've a mind to take on her pet when I've rested up a bit," Maukum mused. "Take out _that_ one, and she won't have nobody guarding her."

Burzash chuckled in spite of himself. Was Maukum truly _that_ blind? "You better get a _lot_ of rest, then. You forgot Foshân. _And_ Mog."

Maukum snorted dismissively. "Mog. There's one that'll roll over and die given half a chance."

"Threaten that female, and you might be surprised what he does," Burzash commented.

"Hmph. But you may be right about the _lorzal_ ," the smaller Uruk allowed. "They're bred special, I heard. Don't care how much pain they're in, they keep going till they drop. Have to take him out in his sleep, I suspect."

"You would... murder your own kind," Burzash said carefully, anger making his already rough voice even harsher, "just to fuck one woman?"

Maukum bared his teeth in a grimace. "It ain't about fucking. Don't remember what Master taught us, eh? Whiteskins are for _us_ to master. Mark my words: she'll take us to her people, and we will be slaves _again_. I just want to show her the folly of such plans."

"What good is such a lesson when you must slay her after the teaching?" Burzash snarled.

Shrugging, the Uruk replied, "We are better off on our own. You know this. Whiteskins will take advantage of our weakness and kill us all. I do not want to be at their mercy."

Burzash suspected that being at _their_ mercy might buy him and his brothers a longer life than being at Maukum's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> lorzal = stupid one


	26. Mercy for the Merciless

Romana was ready to collapse from exhaustion, but still found it in herself to settle the Uruk-hai on the banks of the stream. It wasn't particularly wide or deep, but it flowed clear, and quenched the terrible thirst that had grown in the orcs on their long march. She and Rukh went without water for the whole day, letting the others take a swallow at every rest to keep them going. Having finally drunk her fill, she nearly wept at the thought of so many having to carry on with so little. Hardships like these were not in the least bit familiar to her, not even when marching with the Fellowship through some truly harsh country. They could certainly use Aragorn's ranger skills at the moment.

Several were worsening; the hike hadn't done them a bit of good, for all that now they were far from the threat of predators and the stench of rotting flesh. One Uruk collapsed on the bank with his face in the water, and actually wept when Burzash pulled him back out. As if he wished to embrace death, and was deprived of such a blessing.

She was wearing down as well. There were now twenty one; two died in transit, just sinking to the ground as they walked. Romana tried to revive them, pulling her dim recollections of CPR to the surface, but it was fruitless, and only earned her startled looks from the others. And another hissed argument with Rukh, who thought _every_ pressing of mouths was a precious intimacy now.

Not being a doctor or even a paramedic, Romana didn't know the formal term for the illness raging through the Uruk-hai, but it was terrible. The ones most stricken shook as if freezing, though their bodies burned hot with fever. They breathed heavily and rapidly, often vomiting what little they took in. It seemed to be isolated among those with open wounds, and these she cared for most diligently. She didn't even sit down for a rest before setting Rukh to tearing their clothing into strips. She took on the task of cleaning up the wounded the best she could before ever considering letting it wait until morning.

They were a mess, and she barely contained her sorrow over their condition. It was mostly legs that were sliced up as they were carried out of the valley, struggling to keep their heads above water. Rocks and debris ripped them open; at least one would likely lose his leg from the knee down if his own body's ability to swiftly heal didn't step up.

That was the worst part, she mused. They were Uruk-hai. Rukh had recovered remarkably fast from his injuries, but he had some of the best healers in the Riddermark tending him. He was warm and well fed, too. This lot lacked such advantages. Even those they referred to as 'sleepers' were actually in comas, likely brought on by the infection in their bloodstreams. At least they responded, though feebly, to stimuli. They accepted broth and water, automatically swallowing when necessary. The jostling that resulted from being carted bodily across a mile of grassland by their sick and weak brothers caused them to groan or whimper in protest. Maybe if they were seen to by someone without seventeen others to worry about...

There seemed only one solution, though she dreaded telling anyone about it.

* * *

"You should rest," Rukh rumbled as he sat down beside her. The fire was going strong now that he and Foshân had hauled enough wood to feed it.

"I'll be okay," she mumbled sleepily. He put his arm around her shoulders and she sank gratefully into his embrace. "We're going to lose one of the sleepers, Rukh. I can't do enough. He's falling deeper, and I can't drag him back up." The tears she had fought to contain all day began to fall, and she snuggled closer to the Uruk. He was warm, alive, and his eyes were those of one who had not suffered so profoundly that he welcomed death. She allowed herself the brief indulgence of closeness, knowing what morning would bring.

Across the camp, Mog watched them while trying not to look like he was doing so. It was troubling, the thoughts and feelings stirred by this female. Envy he was accustomed to: he'd envied the soldiers when they left the valley, marching to glorious battle. He still envied them, for they were dead, and he was too weak-willed to follow. But now he envied Rukh for the attention he received from Romana. She was kind to them all equally, but to Rukh... it was different.

Scowling and looking away, he reminded himself that such comforts would never be his. When he thought of the things that had been done by him and his brothers in this land, he shuddered. All bridges had certainly been burned behind them.

He stiffened slightly when Burzash dropped weakly to sit next to him. He, too, glanced over at the pair, brow furrowed. Then he fixed his weary gaze on Mog.

"I must tell you," he said in a low voice. "Be wary of Maukum."

"Already am," Mog replied quietly. "Caught him taking rations from one of the sick ones. I told him I'd have Rukh after him for that, and he laughed. Dared me to say something."

"Have you?"

Mog shook his head. "Perhaps it is best. If we are set upon, few enough of us can fight. Almost none can run. What chance have we?"

"That is more than I know," Burzash replied, rubbing his face. "Rukh trusts her."

"He should," Mog agreed. "She held his life in her hand, and did not take it."

"I have wanted to ask," the leader said. "What happened? Do you know?"

"Not much. She has told me a little; he does not speak of the battle, only what followed. Our brothers were slain, every one. If any besides him lived, they do not say."

"She... spared him?"

Mog nodded. "She bore him into the fortress itself, and saw to his healing alongside the men."

Burzash looked again at the woman, now fast asleep with her head resting on Rukh's thigh, his hand gently stroking her hair. "I did not think... not once... that females had better uses than what our Master told us," the leader murmured.

"Nor I," Mog agreed. "I don't have it in me any longer. I suppose that makes me useless to all."

Tearing his eyes from the strange couple, Burzash appraised the other Uruk. "No. You and I... we think alike. _This_ is what happens to those who obey our Master's will. I do not want to see this handful going back to the old ways. That will mean death to us all." He waved his hand with annoyance. "May as well let that fucker, Maukum, have his way, stealing food and speeding the weak to their graves."

* * *

"I've given it a lot of thought, and I think I have a plan," Romana said tightly to the assembled Uruk-hai the following morning. Half were too weak to even sit up. The one who tried to drown himself the evening before made another attempt during the night. It was sheer luck that Foshân couldn't sleep, and was on hand to haul him out once more. At least she knew his name, now: Kalus. She'd thought it would be Mog on suicide watch, and was surprised that turned out not to be the case. Surprised and relieved, but not spared the worry. She took extra care with Kalus, seeing to his comfort a little more than before. And naturally, her increased attention required yet _another_ 'discussion' with Rukh, but he was calming. Beginning to see that she couldn't ignore them, and wouldn't, no matter what he thought of the matter.

Burzash, Rukh, and Maukum stood around her. She frankly didn't like or trust Maukum; the Uruk reeked of malice, though he maintained an indifferent demeanor.

Taking a deep breath, she jumped in. "We should stay here for another day or so. Rukh and I will hunt, keep the meat coming. Then I think... well... I think we should head back to the Hornburg."

Rukh startled and his jaw dropped open. Burzash and Maukum just looked bewildered; obviously, they had never heard the fortress called that.

"Are you _insane_?" Rukh bellowed. "Have you lost your fucking _mind_?"

"Think about it, Rukh!" she cried. "We're sitting ducks out here. We have _no_ medicine, little food, and I'm just one person. I can't do _everything_. They need dedicated care. Especially those four. Everyone's getting sicker. I _told_ you I didn't want to bury any more of your brothers, and I've had to do two since we set out. No more, Rukh. Please. No more." Tears flowed down her cheeks unchecked. "It's a garrison. There are _always_ people living there. Always."

"The people _I_ saw were refugees," Rukh snarled. "Survivors of villages _we_ burned to the ground. How many of them ran before us? How many of their kin did they watch us butcher?"

"Are you sorry?" Romana shot back. She held his uncomfortable gaze for a moment longer before turning it on the others. "How many of _you_ wish you could take it back now that you need their help?" Most of them bowed their heads or looked away, unable to meet her fierce glare.

"Let us say we _are_ sorry," Burzash snarled. "What fucking difference would it make? You say that what the whiteskins and... those trees did, it would be a crime worth punishing. What of us? Did we not do _worse_?"

"Of course you did," she acknowledged, nodding. "You attacked civilians. People who couldn't defend themselves, or did a poor job of it. Yes, what you did was worth punishing. And _Saruman_ has answered for it."

Maukum curled his lip at her. Though not afflicted with the sentiment his weaker brothers were clearly suffering, he wasn't stupid enough not to see the flaw in her ideas. "Stupid bitch, whiteskins will not consider the debt paid, not by a long mile. They will gut us as soon as we show ourselves."

Narrowing her eyes at the Uruk, she hissed, "What's _your_ idea, then? Raid a village? Go on a murder spree? Keep doing all the wonderful things Saruman told you to do, as if he were _still_ your Master, and you were _still_ his slave? Evidently, a river loaded with the dead wasn't enough incentive for you to change your ways." Shaking her head, she muttered, "An insult to your _smarter_ brothers, that's what _you_ are."

" _I_ am leader!" Maukum roared. "Not some walking cunt leading my brothers by the nose behind her. We are Fighting Uruk-hai!" Turning to the others, he thumped his chest and bellowed, "We take what we want! We kill any who challenge us! Who will follow me?"

Maukum's words were too late. All had been soothed and gentled by one who owed them nothing but death for the things they'd done. Sorry or not, they were not stupid. Even if they _wanted_ to follow Maukum, such a thing was beyond their ability, and would be for some time to come. There were also some who had precious food ripped from their clawed hands by this leader, and they had no respect for him now.

When none so much as raised their head in agreement, Maukum slowly lowered his fist and smirked. "Go with Burzash, then. Each one of you will die a tortured death at the hands of whiteskins. They will piss on you as you grovel and beg forgiveness."

"That won't happen," Romana said firmly. "Trust me or not, but I will make damn sure _nothing_ of the sort happens. Until we get there, though, I want you all to think about a couple of things. One: the people of Rohan owe you _nothing_. If they turn us away, I'll have to consider another plan. I'll try to come up with one on the way. Regardless, the days of you guys thinking you owned the world are _over_. Saruman made you believe that, and he got his ass handed to him by a bunch of trees. Think about it.

"Two: _if_ they let us in, it will be because their sense of charity and goodness is so profound they're able to overlook what you are and what you've done. That will _not_ mean you are _forgiven_. They'll likely be hoping to please their own gods by showing mercy to the merciless, rather than because they've suddenly been stricken with amnesia."

Glancing at Burzash, she went on, "I think you all have great potential. You just need a little... help. Some guidance. You need to understand the way people think who aren't trying to fuck you over or use you. You might find out you have some things in common. Maybe even find some friends in the process."

Rukh slipped his arm around her waist and looked fondly down at her. She smiled and leaned against him. Maukum almost launched a truly venomous comment, but Mog shot him a threatening look, all but confirming Burzash's warning. The wall of orc flesh between him and her was, indeed, three Uruk-hai deep at least.


	27. Gathering Their Strength

"That bitch is mad," Maukum grumbled. Romana and Rukh had gone out to hunt, leaving Burzash 'in charge.' Maukum didn't find this idea acceptable, and hadn't stopped muttering about it since the two disappeared in the distance.

"Tell her, then," Burzash snarled. "I agree with you. The woman has lost her mind, if she thinks we will be welcomed in such a place."

"And so you would say, to hasten me to death," Maukum chuckled humorlessly. "I saw how her pet was quick to accept such plans once she'd taken him aside. Perhaps some... arrangement was made, eh?" He leered.

Burzash shook his head, giving the other Uruk a withering look. "He has been in that place. We have not."

"So he says," Maukum shrugged.

"She says it also."

"Pfah," Maukum spat, turning away. "Show me a whiteskin that can be trusted. Show me one that does not raise sword against us. Show me one that will not lead us to our doom, lulling us with soft words and gentle hands."

Listening to his counterpart's words, Burzash felt inexplicably as if they were all the more true because _Maukum_ thought they were lies. "Show me Uruk-hai who have a choice, fool. We are beaten."

" _You_ are beaten," Maukum corrected with a smirk. "I still possess my wits, and my will is my own."

"It is _not_ , if you intend to betray us!" Burzash flared, standing up. Weak he may be, no match for Maukum's strength any longer, but he was no coward. They squared off, fists clenching.

"'Betray,' brother? I think nothing of betrayal," Maukum snarled.

"That is clear, 'brother,'" Burzash growled. "You would make war on those who _might_ help us. You would doom all for your own ends." Lip curling with disgust, he snapped, "No better than our filthy master. You are Uruk _no longer_."

"If _this_ is what we have become, it is no loss," Maukum sneered. "We are to be pets of these whiteskins, as Rukh is pet to Romana. I will have none of it."

"Then _leave_ us!" Burzash roared. "I will not see one more of my brothers die." Looking the other leader up and down with disdain, he snarled, "Except perhaps one."

Maukum arched his brow and grinned maliciously. "You challenge me, then? You who are too weak to stand?" Tsking mockingly and shaking his head, he purred, "I would hang you by your guts, _pushdug_."

"No fight!"

A strong hand grabbed each of them by the hair and forced them apart. Burzash kept his balance even in Foshân's grip, but Maukum was not so lucky, perhaps because he chose to struggle against the giant.

The fist Maukum aimed into the berserker's gut thudded ineffectually against the hard muscles. Burzash stifled a laugh at the Uruk's dismayed expression. Yet the pounding he hoped to see didn't happen. Foshân grabbed Maukum by the throat and squeezed until the Uruk was gasping and prying at his fingers, trying to kick the berserker's legs.

"Romana master say 'no fight,'" Foshân explained sternly. Then he let go suddenly, and Maukum fell gasping to the ground, rubbing his throat. The giant Uruk glared at him. "No fight. Master mad. No fight."

"Did I not say?" Maukum rasped, coughing and choking. "Pets. She would have us as her pets. Not content with one, she must have all."

"She is not _my_ master," Burzash grumbled. Yet in this, he knew he would follow her lead. Was that the same as being her pet? He didn't know. For a moment, he didn't care, either. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and let death take him, though such despairing thoughts only came to him for a few seconds at most, and rarely. If they were to be slaves again, he would speed their masters' hands in slaying them. But if mercy were offered... if his sick brothers were made well again...

Burzash did not dare hope that he and the others would be set free from whatever prison they were walking into. Who, indeed, was the worse betrayer – one who led them to face their enemy and take what was needed at the point of a sword, ending in massacre for the last remnant of the Uruk-hai, or one who led them into the enemy's fortress with their hands out, begging for scraps in shame?

Watching Romana later, after more meat was brought and bellies were filling, Burzash pondered what must come of letting her lead them. She and Rukh had been gone for most of the day, and while they had three deer to show for their efforts, neither did more than stop for a much-needed drink at the stream before dressing the carcasses and readying the flesh for distribution. He would have expected Rukh, at least, to satisfy his own needs before seeing to the weaker ones, but evidently this was not how Romana wished it to be. Perhaps he _was_ her pet.

"Here," Mog said, handing him what looked like a rather generous ration of warmed deer meat. Burzash had been so lost in his thoughts, he didn't see the Uruk approach. Nodding, he accepted the food, and Mog continued his rounds, distributing meat to the others. Some were so grateful they sobbed and shook. He suspected at least a few of them had prior meals wrested from their hands. Maukum's deeds were not so easily accomplished now, while the Uruk-hai sat close together, and Romana's 'pets' walked among them.

While Romana prepared the broth for the sleepers, she chewed on a half-cooked strip of venison and fretted. What happened at Helm's Deep _after_ the battle was over hadn't been a course of study for her. It was only in brief conversation with the man that she knew the place to be Erkenbrand's seat. He was Lord of the Westfold, a very important person with a great deal of influence. He had also specifically, purposefully avoided any interaction with Rukh in the keep, handling all of his business outside of the great hall. Once she brought Rukh inside, he stopped talking to her as if she'd suddenly become a pariah. She learned later that Boromir experienced a sound verbal thrashing for letting her get away with that move. The sting of guilt for putting him in that position almost made her regret that she hadn't at least let Boromir cop a feel in recompense.

"You should eat more than that," Rukh said, sitting down beside her. "It was a long day."

"I'm fine," she replied, going back to her little stewpot. Bones and organs bubbled inside, producing a rich broth she hoped would provide much-needed sustenance for the sleepers. They had gone far longer than she without something to eat. Though she left instructions for Mog and Kalus to feed them, she wasn't confident that the two had done so. That would probably have fallen into either the category of 'coddling the weak' or 'showing emotional attachment.' Neither seemed to be a trait readily embraced by the Uruk-hai.

By that measure, she was relieved to return and find Kalus sitting sullenly on the grass, instead of face down in the stream. She'd given Mog the additional task of keeping Kalus alive in her absence. At least he hadn't slacked on _that_ duty.

Rukh was beginning to wear down himself. Her dedication to his brothers' survival warmed his heart, but shamed him as well. He would have given up long before now. Seeing such devastation in the wake of the flooding sapped him of his will to go on. Were they not left leaderless now? Not only that, but their leader _lost_ ; he was soundly defeated. Rukh remembered the hostile glares he received when she was tending the wounded in the keep. He remembered the quietly voiced threats intended for his ears only. None seemed ready to do him in while she was on watch, but had she turned her back on him for one moment...

Though her argument was sound, and he recognized the seriousness of their plight, he had deep misgivings about returning to the fortress. Even though, to be truthful, he would follow her into Mordor itself if she so wished it. And _that_ was a place even _he_ had no desire to see.

"Rukh, this is ready," Romana said. "Go fetch Mog and Kalus. I want all of you to help me."

Nodding, Rukh rose and went to gather up the other two Uruks.

Romana's attention had shifted from the sleeper Rukh had saved from the river to the one that was fading. Handing out bowls to each of her helpers, she showed them what to do, then set about easing the warm broth into the mouth of the one she tended.

The first trickle was met with choking, and Romana nearly cried. "Come on, now," she breathed, caressing his face. "You need this. Don't fight it. Please try."

Burzash still found it difficult to accept what he was seeing. Now she had pulled others into her insane effort to save those four. Of course, he would prefer that all of them should survive, but he was no fool. Or perhaps he was. Did she know something he did not? Was it possible that those four would awaken with such careful tending?

He almost felt for a moment – just a moment – that if she succeeded with them, perhaps she could save them all.


	28. Throwing Down a Few Gauntlets

After Kalus finished feeding his charge, he stomped off and sat by himself, staring at the stream. Romana was relieved that, in spite of his own personal issues, he'd still done what he was told in a satisfactory manner. The Uruk he tended seemed... well, it was difficult to tell if they knew what was happening around them, even in some detached, dreamlike way, but he seemed better. Settling hers down, she looked woefully at the half a bowl of broth still left. She just wasn't able to get a single drop more into him.

"Make sure they're warm," she said quietly to Rukh, her gaze stealing back to Kalus. Rukh followed her eyes.

"He needs watching," the Uruk warned. "Foshân's shadowing him, but he's got to sleep sometime."

"I know," Romana sighed. "We all do. I'm about ready to collapse. Burzash knows him, by the way."

"Does he?"

Romana nodded. "He told me what work Kalus used to do in Isengard. I think... I might have a job for him," she said, then walked over to the sullen Uruk.

She knew from experience not to sneak up on any of them, even on a good day. Many were jittery, and though they surely knew by now that she meant well, there seemed to be an instinctive distrust, as if they expected at any moment for the other shoe to drop. Kalus was no different, and flinched when he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye.

"Is this seat taken?" she asked softly. His brow furrowed for a moment, then smoothed. As was often the case with him, he only gave a damn for a second, then suddenly didn't. Romana sat down beside him and looked in the same direction he was.

"I've got a little problem, and I think you might be able to help me," she said after a few minutes of silence.

"Kill Maukum," he said simply. "Problem solved."

Now _her_ brow bunched in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"He's taking meat from the sick ones," the Uruk growled. "Open your fucking eyes."

"I didn't know that," she confessed with some embarrassment. This wasn't the conversation she'd intended, but now a hot flame of anger ignited. "How can he do that to his own brothers?"

"He don't care," Kalus snarled. "We're dead to him."

"Well, you're not dead to _me_ ," she snapped. "I'll _murder_ him! Dammit!" She punched the ground. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she turned to Kalus. "Thanks for telling me. Do you know which ones?"

"Me," he said, shrugging. "Those three over there." He pointed to a trio of Uruks huddled together looking warily about, as if expecting an attack at any moment. "Them." His hand gestured negligently toward a pair lying together, too weak to sit up.

"Oh god," Romana breathed, rubbing her forehead. "Why you? You're not as bad off as the others."

"I don't give a fuck," Kalus said dully. "And I ain't been eatin' anyway."

"Kalus," she whispered. "Don't do that to yourself."

He growled low in his throat, but said nothing more.

"You know, I'd expect this sort of selfish, every-man-for-himself behavior out of humans. I don't know why I didn't think _you_ guys would do it."

Kalus finally looked at her, his expression mildly surprised. "You expect it of _men_ , but not orcs?"

"I guess I thought... orcs were more tribal," she replied, shrugging. "I mean, you refer to each other as 'brothers.' I just assumed..."

"Hmph," he snorted, turning away. "Don't mean nothin'. Not to him."

"How about you?" she asked, arching her brow. "What do _you_ think?"

"I don't," he snapped. "Leave me be."

"Tell me something, Kalus," Romana said thoughtfully. "What would make you happy?"

He looked at her as if she'd asked him to calculate _pi_ in his head. "Happy? You wanna know what'll make me _happy_? How about you get the fuck outta my face with your fucking questions, eh? How about you lettin' me die like I want?"

"Let you take the easy way out?" she said mildly. "While all your brothers are suffering and dying?"

"Easy," he snorted. "It ain't easy. Cowards kill themselves."

"I see," she said, nodding. "And... you think you're a coward, is that it?"

"We're _dead_ ," he snarled, gritting his teeth. "Our Master, _dead_. Our purpose, _dead_. We got _nothin'_. This lot, we're it. There ain't no more Uruk-hai after we drop. Even _we're_ not fucking stupid enough not to know how you make more of us. Who's gonna mate with us? You? With all of us? After you kill yourself keeping us alive?" He shook his head. "We gotta just accept it. It's over. We're dead. All of us."

"Ah," Romana said. "That's it, then, is it? You want a mate. What about orc females? There are orcs all over the place, right? There's bound to be..."

Kalus blanched. "Those ugly bitches? No. I'd rather stick my cock in a bear trap. _Snaga_ wouldn't even let'em near us. I saw a few once, and didn't mind them keeping their own to themselves. Master bred us to _human_ females. So that's what we want." He waved his hand dismissively. "So we'll die. Cause there ain't no human female gonna want us, and there ain't enough of _you_ to go around."

Romana shifted uncomfortably. " I suppose it's an improvement that you're not lining up to force the issue," she muttered.

"Rukh would have our heads if any of us came near enough to sniff you," the Uruk growled.

"He's keeping you at bay, then?" she asked stiffly.

Sighing deeply, Kalus muttered, "No. Most don't want it now. Only one who even talks about it is Maukum. Another reason to kill him, if you ask me. You're... different. Maybe I don't wanna go on, but there are those too stupid to see the end is upon us. They'll hold on, and you'll buy'em another month or so. I suppose... they got the right. _We_ all know that if we do anything to you, we're fucked. One word from you, and whiteskins'll run us down, slaughter us, finish us off. Maukum either don't see it, or don't care."

Nodding, Romana said, "I confess it would be really hard to defend you guys if even _one_ of you stepped over that line."

"So... Rukh didn't, eh?" he asked quietly, not looking at her. His brow was furrowed uncertainly.

"No, he didn't," she said pointedly. "He won me with his... charm and... uh... something or other. Hard telling, now that I think about it." She gazed off into space thoughtfully. "Could have been the sex. He may not have known what the hell he was doing, but he picked things up pretty fast."

Kalus stared at her. She glanced over and blushed. "We're kind of... in a rough patch, at the moment. He... sort of... went down that road a little. The one he used to walk. Scared me pretty badly, but he stopped himself. Then we found you guys, and... I guess our problem just sort of... wasn't as important anymore."

"What if... if he whelps you?" the Uruk asked in an undertone.

She raised her eyebrows. "You mean, gets me pregnant? I hadn't given it much thought, actually."

"What're you gonna do if he does?" he asked cautiously.

"Deal with it, I suppose," she shrugged. "Why? What do you _think_ I'll do?"

He grimaced, and as he spoke, he began to rock, hugging his knees. "They used to drown'em or strangle'em, I heard. In the pits. The females. If they got a chance at it. Knew they'd get put outta their misery if they made Master angry, so they muh... murdered the young. Got so a whole bunch would be dead in a single night." Kalus winced and shuddered. "Heard about it. It's why Master took'em out early. Before them females could get a hold of'em." His voice grew harsh and bitter. "What would havin' mates get us, eh? Maybe we get a whelp or two, if we're lucky, then we watch whiteskins come screamin' down on us, slaughtering the younglings like they're... like they're animals. Like they're filth. Or the females we mate with'll kill'em soon as they draw breath."

Pausing, Kalus glanced down. Romana had hold of his hand, clasping it tightly. He hadn't even noticed. Looking up, he saw the look on her face. Far from glaring with hatred, or grimacing in disgust, her face showed sympathy, her eyes welled with tears for his pain. He honestly didn't know what to do with that.

"You the only one?" he asked hollowly.

"Only one what?"

"That don't... look at us and... run."

She squeezed his hand and patted it. "I don't know. I hope not. If ever someone needed affection and understanding, it's you guys. I want that for you all _so badly_. But I can't promise it. A lot of shit went down in this country, you know. Humans don't forget easily."

"We did what we were told," he muttered.

"I know that," she nodded. "If I can swing forgiveness, I'll consider myself a miracle-worker. Honestly, humans are the most efficient predators on the planet. We can _afford_ a little sympathy."

Kalus sneered. "There is no greater hunter than the Uruk-hai," he snapped. "Humans cannot best us. We..."

"Amateurs," Romana interrupted, shaking her head. "We'll kill each other faster than you can imagine. We'll hunt down _one person_ until we've razed an entire civilization. We invent new and better ways of completely destroying our enemies, rooting them out of their lairs, knocking them back into the Stone Age, making their lands uninhabitable for generations. Don't tell _me_ the Uruk-hai are better at this shit. You know something? There are _no orcs_ where I come from. _None_. If humans don't like it, feel threatened by it, or just think it's inconvenient, we snuff it out."

"Then there is no hope for us," he growled.

"There's always hope," she replied. "We may be predatory by nature, but we are also nurturing. If there's a spark of pity in those people at the fortress, I'll fan it to a roaring flame. You – the Uruk-hai – were pawns. You were used. You didn't even know what you were doing was wrong because the one person who _did_ know didn't see fit to tell you. He brought you into the world and threw you at his enemies without telling you _why_ you should hate them, _why_ you should kill them, _what_ you were fighting for... I'm afraid I don't think you should have to suffer for that. Not eternally, and not like _this_."

Kalus nodded slowly. It was difficult concentrating on her words when her hand held his as if he were one of _her_ people.

"I'll take care of the Maukum problem," she said quietly. "In the meantime, I need you to work on _my_ problem. We have a lot of Uruk-hai that need to move over land with few springs. We have about... I don't know, ten miles to cover... three leagues, I think, before we get to the Deeping Stream. So we need to figure out a way to carry water, and lots of it. Once we get there, we can just follow the stream all the way to Helm's Deep. Can you do that? Can you figure something out? Burzash said you worked leather and skins."

"You get us there, and they let us in," Kalus conceded. "Then what? What of mates, then? Eh? What good does it do us, being 'allowed' to live by their pity?" he spat.

"One thing at a time, Kalus," she said.

"No," he snarled. "You talk, but I do not _see_. Show me a whiteskin female that does not weep at my touch, and I will _consider_ living."

"Are you challenging me?"

He glared at her for a moment, then snapped. "Yes. I challenge you. And I will not stop. I do _not_ wish to live. I will continue to try."

"So it's a race, then," Romana said with a wry smile.

His expression softened slightly. "A race. Bring me a female of my own before I die. One that has not been...," he said, faltering. His voice shook. "One that has not been scarred by one of us."

"I accept your challenge, Kalus," she said solemnly, squeezing his hand one last time before getting up to deal with the other issue.

* * *

"Maukum, sweetie," Romana purred, walking up behind the Uruk without giving a god damn whether her boldness made him nervous or not. She was not accompanied by Rukh or any of the others, and he was standing straight and powerful, looking healthier than any of his brothers. Two Uruks with barely the strength to sit up, cowered before him, one in the act of handing over his ration to the vicious leader.

"What do _you_ want?" Maukum snarled, snatching the meat from the Uruk and taking a large bite. He chewed tauntingly, daring her to say anything.

"Just a word of warning," she said, tilting her head to the side, a slight smile on her face. "I catch you doing that shit again, or even _hear_ about it, I'll split you open like a pig and rip out your guts. I don't think I'm quite strong enough to drag you by them, but I know someone who is. Don't make me fetch him from the battlefield." Leaning a bit closer toward his furiously snarling face, she said confidentially, "I confess I've never done it before. I doubt I can keep you alive while I do it. We'll just have to see, won't we?"


	29. Advisor to the Chief

It was thoroughly annoying to Kalus that no one left him alone for five minutes at a stretch. While he could at least be grudgingly grateful that none got close enough to speak to him for the most part, he felt eyes on him and heard whispers. Could they not let him fade into oblivion? Rukh had even dropped to one knee beside him and warned him that if he kept on refusing food, the bigger Uruk would force it down his throat.

To keep them quiet, he had a few bites of deer when Burzash brought him skins to work, but expelled it all the moment their backs were turned. It hurt terribly, the hunger, but it couldn't last much longer, surely. His hands shook and he suffered headaches. Nausea actually made it easier _not_ to eat. He hoped that when Romana saw fit to get them moving again, marching toward that fortress where torture and death awaited them, he would drop in his tracks as those others had, and cease to feel anything anymore.

He was startled when a bundle of branches in varying lengths suddenly fell to the ground next to him.

Mog dropped heavily down beside him and began sorting the wood. "You are not the only one given a task," the Uruk grumbled. "She will have us all enslaved by end of day." Nodding toward a pair of Uruks sullenly bathing a protesting third in the stream, Mog growled. "Thinks we should be 'presentable' when we go. Hmph. We are _Uruk-hai_. Not Men." Snorting, he glanced at the depressed Uruk. "What she got _you_ doin', eh?"

Kalus curled his lip and went back to stripping the skin. "Makin' water skins."

"What you sewin' 'em up with?"

"Gut," Kalus replied, holding up a glistening string of moist intestine. "Ain't as good as I could make it back in the pits, but it'll do."

Nodding, Mog settled on the two longest branches and laid them side by side. Then he compared lengths for the cross pieces. "I'm building a sling for your skins, then. Framin' it, anyway. She found someone else that can weave grasses into a basket or somesuch. Fill in the gaps."

"Who'll be carryin' this thing of yours?" Kalus asked without caring all that much.

Mog shrugged. "She said it should fit on our shoulders, between a couple of us. Probably have us take it in pairs, trade it off when the carriers get tired. Wants a couple of litters made, as well."

"What're those?"

"Fuck if I know. She tried drawin' pictures in the dirt with a stick, but it didn't make no sense. She says they're for draggin' the sleepers." He shrugged again. "Told her we should just leave'em here, and she about tore my head off."

Kalus chuckled and shook his head. "She is a fool, and will make us all suffer for it."

Shifting a little and frowning, Mog replied, "I would not say that. I think... if there is a chance of surviving, she will see we have it. Watch how she is with Rukh, and how he is with her. It is... eye-opening."

Casting his gaze across the camp, Kalus found Romana going from one Uruk to another, listening to them, touching shoulders and heads in passing, murmuring encouraging words. Always, her face was serious and concerned. The woman walked among them without fear, yet he did not have the sense that the lack was due to their condition. It seemed that she simply believed them deserving of such careful tending, and would not dream of adding to their despair by flinching or looking upon them with disgust.

"How is she with Rukh, then?" he asked, going back to his work.

Mog sighed. "I ain't seen'em fucking, but they touch each other a lot. Don't know how he keeps from takin' more than that. I know _I_ wouldn't."

"She said he tried, but failed," Kalus recalled. "It would seem this was _after_ he had already fucked her, though." He shook his head. "Don't understand why it would be different."

"Guess it just is," Mog shrugged. "Don't matter, I suppose. Not to _us_. She's likely the only female in Rohan that don't scream at the sight of us. Probably best if we don't think about it. Just make us... want. And I don't _want_."

"Hmph," Kalus grunted. "You see a female's legs open in front of you, you'll want. Take more than drownin' to kill _that_."

"And here I thought you were damn near dead, Kalus," Mog chuckled. "I hear she made you a promise. If I were you, I'd stick around just to see if she can deliver."

Kalus considered telling the Uruk to mind his own affairs, but thought better of it. "The promise has conditions. I will keep _my_ promise as well."

" _Your_ promise is a coward's way out," Mog growled.

"It is one you would take if you had the will," Kalus retorted, glowering at Mog.

Shrugging, Mog began tying the framework's pieces in place with deer sinews. "Maybe I think she might make _me_ such a promise, if I am pathetic enough."

"Fuck you," Kalus snarled angrily.

Again, Mog chuckled. "You have more life in you than you let on." Pausing to look seriously at Kalus, he added, "Our Master tossed us away like so much garbage. Don't you do the same."

* * *

"I can't _believe_ you didn't tell me about this," Romana hissed. Burzash growled deep in his chest.

"I am the fucking leader," he snapped. "If it is not _me_ who takes him down, then I am _no_ leader."

"That is _bullshit_ ," she bit back. "You're in _no condition_ to fight him, but you can _still_ be an effective leader. _Protect_ your people, dammit! Keep fuckheads like Maukum from exploiting them. If that means outsourcing the discipline to me and Rukh, then so be it. As long as your people, _your brothers_ , don't go hungry."

"How would _that_ make me a leader, eh?" he roared. "None would respect me if I did not prove my strength."

"Do it some other way," she growled. "I didn't see _Saruman_ leading the charge back at Helm's Deep. I didn't see _Saruman_ scaling the fucking walls. I didn't see _Saruman_ beating down the gates. Wasn't _he_ your leader?"

Burzash faltered, his brow furrowed. Romana didn't let up.

"Of course he didn't," she snapped. "He got his _subordinates_ to do the dirty work. The things he didn't have time to do, or were _beneath_ him. Show them that dealing with that bit of trash is not worth _your_ precious time. You've got better things to do. He's not _worthy_ of direct attention from you."

"They... will not see it that way," he replied hesitantly.

"Bullshit," she barked. "They'll see what _y_ _ou_ make them see. If you want to stage a giant scene of it, we'll play along. Whatever it takes. I want _all of you_ to make it to the fortress. Not just the ones _he_ thinks are worth saving. I thought we were in agreement on that."

"We are," Burzash growled. It flashed into his mind that this was not something he ever imagined he'd be arguing with a whiteskin about: how to maintain his authority over a group of Uruk-hai. Never mind discussing how to get them all to safety.

"Good," she said more calmly. "I've redistributed to those he's robbed. They'll need another round to get them anywhere close to comfortable tonight. I want _you_ bringing it to them from now on, understand? We'll handle the others, but I think you should show them you're aware of what's been going on."

"Must I fondle them as you do?" he growled with little heat.

Rolling her eyes, Romana shook her head. "Call it maternal instinct, but I see suffering, and I have to fix it. That means touching. Humans are weird." She hoped the feeling was universal, and would likewise afflict the women in the fortress. They were her ace in the hole, if there was any chance of saving these guys, but she said nothing about that.

Burzash sighed. "It is... appreciated. None of us have ever been touched... gently... before. It is a comfort."

"I know. Now, about tomorrow," she said briskly, "Rukh and I will bring in as much as we can and get the meat dried and packed. Kalus should have some skins ready by then, I hope. I'm trying to get Mog to understand what a litter is..."

"Pups?" Burzash asked in confusion.

"No, no," Romana replied with a laugh. "A litter, in this case, is like a sling between two poles. You put people on it, lift one end, and drag it. I thought that would be easier for us. Put the sleepers in them and drag instead of carry. A few are getting stronger, but we've got over three leagues to cover. That's a bit much to put on their shoulders."

"Agreed," the Uruk leader nodded, then bared his teeth in a snarl. "You say I am leader, yet you give me orders."

"Call it advice," she said gently. "You can take it or leave it. If you think I'm full of shit or steering you wrong, tell me so. A good leader has good advisors around him. He can't be all things to all people all the time. You have choices, you know. _Yes_ , I think I know what to do, and I'm pretty strong in my opinions. But this isn't _my_ world. These aren't _my_ people. You know what's best for them."

"Going to this fortress of men," Burzash said. "You believe it is... good for them?"

"I won't lie to you," she replied. "It'll either be really good or really bad. I promise you, I'll check first, find out which way it'll go down, before bringing them within bowshot of the walls. I have no intention of getting everyone's hopes up only to have my own people come screaming across the plains with blood in their eyes."


	30. Getting Things Out in the Open

Rukh glanced at Romana, stretched out beside him in the underbrush overlooking the stream. Her gaze was intently focused on the banks below them, hands clutching the crossbow. Their perch was half a mile upstream from the camp, upwind of the others, and quiet but for birds calling in the treetops above. It was the best place they'd found for waiting out deer in search of a drink.

He could smell it, that musk scent of his own arousal. It seemed never to leave him. At least a few of the Uruk-hai refugees picked it up on him as well, and advised him to stop stinking up the place and go fuck his woman. Each time they went out, he hoped she would come to him on her own, but she hadn't.

Having shared something so good with her, he longed to have it again. But she dodged him in the presence of the others, and avoided his touch altogether if he seemed too insistent. Was she not his mate? Did mates not... mate?

Unable to get his mind off such questions, or the throbbing need that distracted his waking and sleeping, he forced himself to speak.

"I... want you, Romana," he said quietly.

Her response was agitated and distracted. She didn't really think about what she was saying. "Yeah, well, I don't want _you_. Now shut up. You'll scare the game away."

Wincing, Rukh growled. His body quivered with the need to howl his hurt and fury. Calm left him swiftly, and his breath quickened. His face contorting with anger, he turned on her and roared, "Who do you want, then? Is it Burzash? Does he please you better? Or Mog? Has your pity for Kalus made you want _him_?"

"Rukh...," she said, startled, then had to scoot back away from him as he struggled awkwardly out of the brush, arms flailing to get the branches out of his way. Then he stomped off. Sighing, she shook her head. Forcing herself to rise, she trailed after the furious Uruk.

Tantrums rarely got her sympathy gland pumping, but in his case, she knew she'd hurt him, however unintentionally, and he had few reactions to pain at his disposal.

He hadn't gone far, and she found him on his hands and knees vomiting. It was the strangest thing she'd ever seen: she actually upset him so much he puked. She felt a hundred times worse.

"Rukh," she said quietly, keeping her distance for now. "I didn't mean... When I said I didn't want you, I meant _now_. This moment. I didn't mean... _anymore_."

The spasms diminished in strength as her words sank in. "You push me away," he snarled brokenly, sitting back on his heels. "You do not let me touch you. You do not lie with me, even for warmth. You say you are my mate, but _we do not mate_!" He rubbed his face roughly.

"Is that all you want from me?" she snapped. "Is that all I _am_ to you, just a hole to stick your dick in? Because you're more than that to _me_. You're a _lot_ more."

It took a great effort to calm herself down, restrain the urge to fly off the handle and give him a piece of her mind he wouldn't soon forget. She'd had to make similar speeches before, to men who _didn't_ think of her as more than a receptacle. Men who believed they could have any woman they wanted, and only gave her the time of day out of kindness. Or pity.

Rukh couldn't even raise his eyes to look at her. While the vomiting had stopped, his body quivered and his face was creased with agony.

"I want... to please you," he said hollowly. "I feel... good... when you smile. I... would kill for you. I would _die_ for you. If you asked it, I would kill _all_ of my brothers. To please you." He drew a shuddering breath. "I want to give you... all. All I have. But I have nothing. Nothing except... _this_." He cupped his privates loosely. "It is all I have to give that has any value."

He loved her. That was what he was trying to say, and Romana was humbled by the realization. The emotion seemed to have far more meaning coming from him than from anyone else who had professed such a thing using the proper terms.

"That's not true," she replied softly. "Um... can you... come over here a bit?" She grimaced toward the puddle of sick in front of him. Rukh slowly rose and came to her, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He took a long, cleansing drink from the waterskin she offered.

"I have seen a side of you these last few days that... well, I... I admire," she said sincerely. "I don't want you to kill any of them, but I _am_ glad you feel enough connection with them to work so hard. You and I... well, we have... some unfinished business, don't we?"

He met her gaze and searched her face. At least she wasn't looking angrily at him. She didn't look disgusted, either. "What... business?"

Just thinking about it made her uncomfortable, but they hadn't addressed it. She was still upset about it when they found the first survivors, then things just... happened. There never seemed to be a moment when they could be alone and worry about their own problems. Maybe _he_ didn't spare a thought more about it, but _she_ did.

Folding her arms over her chest, she bowed her head, unable to look at him. "You... jumped me, Rukh. You _knew_ I didn't want... sex, but you didn't care. You tried to force me to do what _you_ wanted. I thought I could trust you. I wouldn't have come all this way with you if I didn't. You betrayed that trust."

"But... I stopped," he protested feebly. "I... I stopped. I smelled your fear, and I did not like it. Not from _you_."

She nodded. "I know you did. I haven't forgotten that part. Sauron didn't show you stopping. He didn't show you _caring_ whether I fought you, or screamed, or cried... But _you_ stopped. I hope... it was because you _did_ care about all that."

"I did. I _do_. Romana... I do not know what to do. I feel... things... I have no name for. I see you, and I want so badly... not just fucking," he said quickly, shaking his head. "I miss... the touching. And... kissing." He grimaced and looked away again. "But you do not want this... not from me."

"That's not true, either," she said. "I miss it, too. I miss _you_. You've... sort of grown on me, you sexy bastard." Smiling wanly, she took hold of his clawed hands and held them firmly. He didn't know if he should just smile in return or try to kiss her. Considering how infirm his grip on self-control was at the best of times, the Uruk decided to hold back, and not even start. He'd have her on the ground in a heartbeat, and this time, there would be no second chances. No forgiveness.

"I think... we went too fast," she said carefully. "Humans tend to gradually work their way into the sex part of a relationship. Not just... jump into bed at the earliest opportunity." Grinning sheepishly, she confessed, "I suppose I should have played hard to get a bit longer. Get to know you better."

He snorted. "What is there to know?" he grumbled. "I am Rukhtorû. I am Uruk-hai. I am...," he faltered, wincing. "I am the dirt beneath the feet of all who walk. The beast that butchers, the monster that rapes. I am... filth. And you do not want that in your bed." Roughly pushing her hands away from him, Rukh spun on his heel and started back to the camp.

"You are Rukh who worries about his brothers," Romana said pointedly, and he paused. "The Uruk who pulled them from the river until he had nothing left. The Uruk who lies in wait for prey all day, so they won't suffer. The Uruk who worried they might hurt me, and told them in no uncertain terms that I was off-limits. The Uruk, I have no doubt, who would stand between me and Sauron's army if they so much as threatened to break my nails." Stepping up behind him, she laid her hand on his shoulder. "I most definitely want _that_ Uruk in my bed."

"Now?" he asked hopefully, though he already knew the answer.

"I think... soon," she said hesitantly.

"Soon we will be at Helm's Deep," he snarled, jerking his shoulder from under her hand. "You will not lie with me _there_."

"No, I don't imagine I will," she conceded, then rubbed her forehead. "I'm really... worried about this, Rukh. Erkenbrand's in charge, and he's... well, I'm not going to waltz twenty starved, sick, naked orcs into his keep by flashing my tits. You might not remember him, but his men fought at the Fords, and came screaming down the hillside on your flank that morning. He's the Lord of the Westfold; these people are his responsibility. He's second only to the king in authority around here. He was _not_ happy when I brought you into the fortress; he'll blow a gasket when I show up with twenty more."

"Then why are you still taking them there?" Rukh growled, his brow furrowing with anger. "His people bore the worst of our assaults. He will not forget."

Sighing, she nodded. "I swear to you, Rukh, I will pay _any_ price he asks, except their lives. They need help I can't give, shelter I can't build, healing I don't begin to know how to provide."

"What if he wants fucking?" the Uruk snarled.

Narrowing her eyes with grim determination, she replied, "Then he gets fucking."


	31. Hope in Short Supply

Had Rukh challenged her on it, Romana would have to admit that she wouldn't go to such an extreme as sleeping with the Lord of the Westfold on behalf of a load of Uruk-hai. But she was serious about prostrating herself to the point of humiliation if it came to that. Which, she was fairly certain, it would.

Even though their little 'come to Jesus' confrontation temporarily scared any potential prey away, the lure of a clear-running stream this close to the befouled Isen was too tempting, and they returned to the encampment with three large deer. Kalus was finished making as many water skins as he could with the materials she gave, so she assigned him to skinning duty with Rukh, Maukum, and Foshân. So few of the Uruks were able to apply their waning strength to such arduous tasks that Romana simply left them alone. Joining Mog, she helped him with the litters, finally getting it across to him what she wanted him to build.

After working in silence for several minutes, Mog eventually stopped and looked at Romana. It took her another minute before she noticed, then she halted as well to meet his gaze, an expectant expression on her face.

"Why you helpin' us?"

Chuckling a little, she said, "I've told you something like four or five times, Mog. Are you thinking my answer's going to change if you ask again?"

"Just... uh," he said, then faltered, looking away. He half-heartedly picked up a length of hide he was using to tie the supports with. "We leaving tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah," she replied, nodding. "I thought we might. It'll probably take us a few days to get there, though."

He nodded stiffly without looking at her. His frown deepened.

"Mog?" she prodded gently. "It's okay if you're a little scared."

"I ain't scared," he snapped, glaring at her.

"Okay... maybe nervous?"

Settling back down, he shrugged. "Maybe nervous."

She watched the muscles of his face twitch in profile for a moment, then said, "I won't let anything happen to anyone. I'm not dragging you all there just so they can slaughter you. I promise."

He paused for a moment, thinking. "It'll happen sooner or later anyway. Best get it over with, eh?"

"What's it going to take to convince you?" she asked.

"Seeing it for myself," he replied.

Romana nodded. "I guess... that's fair enough."

Mog seemed to be struggling with something, so Romana waited him out.

"If I found... Men," he finally ventured cautiously, "like you found us... I'd kill them." She nodded, but kept her silence. "Ask anybody round here. They'd say the same."

"I know," she said. "I know you would."

The Uruk's serious face continued to twitch as he avoided her eyes, staring at the framework he was assembling without really seeing it. When he spoke again, his voice was so low she had trouble hearing it. "They'd do it to us."

She nodded. "Probably."

Glancing at her for a moment, he said, "Didn't want to think more than a minute or an hour ahead. Didn't think I'd see it." Grunting a humorless chuckle, he growled, "You got me thinking a day ahead, and I don't like what I'm seein'."

"What do you think will happen?"

He shrugged. "They'll kill us. Whether it'll be when they see us, or after we get inside... we're all dead soon as we get there."

"I won't let that happen," she assured him softly, laying a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly. Though he shrugged and nodded, the frown didn't leave his face as they worked. Romana thought Mog was rather indifferent to his fate up to this point, but now it seemed he'd changed his mind. She honestly didn't know how to comfort him, because she couldn't be completely sure his fears wouldn't be realized.

* * *

"Why does Burzash not attend to these matters?" Maukum grumbled under his breath as he scraped fat off a deer hide with a shoulder blade from an earlier kill. Weapons were scarce in the camp, tools non-existent. They'd been forced to make do with whatever they could make or find. While Rukh and Kalus were diligently preparing their hides, Maukum could have cared less, and his work showed it.

Glaring across the camp, he watched Burzash going from one cluster of weary, bedraggled Uruks to the next. He spent considerable time with the ones Maukum had decided weren't worth wasting resources on, a challenge the vicious little Uruk didn't fail to recognize.

Curling his lip in a sneer, he glared at the berserker, eagerly cutting a hide into strips for binding. Sometimes as he worked, Foshân held his tongue between his teeth, as if that would help him cut straight.

Glancing up, Rukh said, "That is good, Foshân." The big Uruk met Rukh's eyes happily, his chest swelling with pride, and dove back into his work.

 _Romana was right_ , Rukh mused. _Praise is good for them._

Maukum snorted and shook his head at the infantile berserker. "Have I earned such honeyed words also?" he snarled at Rukh.

Kalus glanced up, smirked, and went back to his own hide. Rukh growled, "Had you listened to any of Kalus's instruction, you might. Because you _did_ not, you _do_ not."

Glowering at the larger Uruk, Maukum bit back a challenge. He still lacked advantage where Rukh was concerned, and it was likely the simpleton would step in if he called him out. More than Rukh, Maukum feared Foshân, and not because of his size, though that was greater even than Rukh's. Foshân lacked any kind of sense, particularly that of limitation. Like all berserkers, he would fight until he could no longer move, once he got started. Quite unlike his brethren, however, he had given his obedience entirely to Romana. He would do anything that whiteskin female told him to do. Even kill the lot of them with his bare hands, if she felt so inclined to ask it of him.

He would not be surprised if Rukh would do something similar, being granted unfettered access to her 'charms' as he suspected. They certainly seemed to operate as one, even uniting in their support of Burzash as leader. If he were to succeed in undermining Romana's influence and retaking control, he reasoned, he must start with Rukh.

"It matters little," Maukum snarled with contempt. "We march to our deaths at dawn, led by the nose like cattle to slaughter. You will see. Take their side, she will, and hang us all." In the stillness that followed his statement, the Uruk snorted and said, "Likely feed their fucking horses with our meat."

The furious retort died on Rukh's lips and he chuckled instead. "Horses eat grass, _flâgît_." [idiot]

Feeling that his accusation, by not being denied, must be true, Maukum growled, "What do you gain, eh? What has she offered you to lead us to our doom? Has she promised you her cunt?"

Rukh stiffened and snarled, "What are you saying?"

"Exactly what I ask," Maukum replied smoothly. "What is in it _for you_? Besides all the fucking you can take. Or is that all you require to lead us into this trap?"

"I do not know what the fuck you're talking about," Rukh growled, feeling his temper rising. He sensed Kalus's eyes on him, and knew Foshân had likewise stopped what he was doing to watch.

"Yet you don't deny she leads us to our deaths," Maukum pointed out.

"She will do exactly what she says. You have doubts?"

"I got no doubt she'll protect _you_ , or you would not be going along with her plans." Smirking, Maukum predicted, "You will stand aside and grin as they cut our throats, knowing that when the blood stops flowing, she will be on her back beneath you."

Rukh shook his head. "I will defend my brothers to my last breath, _pushdug_. _All_ of them... save one." Flicking his eyes provocatively up and down Maukum's body as if to assess him as a potential threat, he snorted dismissively. "One who has shown he is no _brother_."

Arching his brow, Maukum asked flatly, "What have I done to _you_?"

Burzash was right about _this_ one, Rukh mused. Too fucking stupid for his own good. Snorting, he went back to his work, something far more important than bandying words with Maukum right now.

Darting his eyes between Rukh and Maukum, Kalus frowned. It seemed a shame to let Maukum get away with the foul accusations he'd made, not to mention his _own_ betrayal of the Uruk-hai in the matter of rations.

_I'd expect this sort of selfish, every-man-for-himself behavior out of humans._

Smirking at Romana's remembered words, Kalus muttered just loud enough for them to hear, "It's more likely _you'll_ sell us to the whiteskins, since you got so much of their blood in you."

In a heartbeat, Maukum was on him. Kalus was thrown onto his back and pummelled by a rain of blows to his face and body. _Finally_ , he thought, and willed himself to go limp. Had he weakened himself enough? Would it take more than a brief pounding to finish him now?

Evidently it would, for he was still mostly conscious when Rukh and Foshân subdued his attacker and flung him aside. When his eyes focused, Romana's worried face was there. He felt her daubing at the blood streaming from his nose and mouth.

"Stop pullin' me back, woman," he grumbled, closing his eyes again.

"Not on your life," she replied.

* * *

Across the camp, Burzash crouched next to the pair of Uruks he'd judged to be the weakest, compared to the sleepers.

"Oy," he said quietly, "you lot doing all right?"

One of the two Uruks was sleeping deeply enough to be alarming, while the other trembled and seemed barely able to focus on Burzash.

He knew exactly what would be done with Uruks showing signs like this if they were back in Isengard. Someone, him probably, would be sent after them to put an end to the waste of resources. Sick Uruks were useless Uruks, and their Master did not coddle the weak or tolerate their existence.

But things were different now. "Hey," he said, prodding the shivering Uruk. Getting no response to his words or his touch, he turned to the sleeping one. He was worse even than the sleepers, Burzash realized. The wretched Uruk had lost control of his bowels at some point, though what came out of him was watery and lacked any sign that he'd eaten in days. Ribs that stood out prominently beneath his leathery skin could be seen expanding and contracting with his shallow, labored breathing.

Burzash was no healer, but he knew a dying Uruk when he saw one. This one wouldn't last the night; might not live another hour. There was nothing he could do, he realized suddenly. No matter how hard he tried, this one was going to slip through his fingers. How long before the rest followed?

According to Romana, there would never be another Isengarder made, and all those that _were_ made were destroyed, but for this pitiful handful barely clinging to life. All they knew how to do was fight, but fighting wouldn't help this time. Their Master didn't give them anything they could use, didn't make them with any kind of forethought, any plan for what would come after the war was over. They were not even afforded the courtesy of females, in case they _did_ survive. Perhaps he gave them life with one hand, but with the other he took everything else away.

The Uruk leader wanted to throw his head back and roar in fury. Pointless. He wanted to kill something, _anything_ , but there was no use in that, either. He couldn't even lay blame at the feet of filthy whiteskins or out of control trees now. Romana was right; the cause of it all was their Master and his ambitions.

But perhaps it went deeper yet. Why were _they_ made? Because their Master sought to join the Dark Lord or, even worse, supplant him. To do such a thing, he needed an army. During war, whiteskins fielded their own folk, pulling them from the fields, cities, and towns. They joined under a King's banner and fought for their lands, their people, their _world_. What did those of the Shadow fight for? Nothing, that's what. They were bribed, coerced, taken, or bred special, as was done in Isengard. They fought because to resist the call was to die. Perhaps because they fought for no purpose, they were easily defeated, slaughtered in droves. But because they were continuously bred, continuously enslaved, and continuously thrown at their Master's enemies, occasionally they had been known to win a battle or two by sheer overwhelming numbers.

And all the while, they directed their aggression toward those their Masters _told_ them to hate, never entertaining the thought that perhaps their anger was best aimed elsewhere.

Burzash sat heavily on the ground next to the prone Uruk and rested a hand on his head, helpless to do anything else.


	32. Pugilism, Politics, and Pleasure, Oh My!

She thought it would get easier. They were just orcs, after all. She'd killed a fair number in various places, so it shouldn't bother her to see them suffering and dying. Yet each one lost from _this_ group of orcs hit her like a physical blow.

"All right," she muttered to Rukh, and he barked at the assembled Uruks to get their attention. Most barely spared any attention for the corpse on the ground, except to wonder why it was in a shallow pit. Only a few were disturbed enough by the loss of yet another of their number to avert their eyes and pretend they were anywhere else but here.

Taking a deep breath, Romana blinked back tears and tried to keep her voice steady and strong. Neither was easy.

"This is... was Akûlghaashug," she said shakily. "Some of you just called him Akûl. He was Fighting Uruk-hai. He was brave. He stood strong against his enemies. All those who went before him will raise their cups and drink to him; all will raise their voices in praise of him. They will hear him boast of his deeds in this world, and they will know he was strong." Tears filled her eyes and she looked away from their confused faces. She knew what they were thinking; Akûl's enemies were _her_ people, and yet she praised him as a noble warrior among his own.

Rukh had been skeptical when she insisted on having a funeral for the Uruk. Burzash, however, agreed. He'd sat vigil as Akûl breathed his last. He was coming around to the same way of thinking Romana had, that the loss of one must be recognized. They were fewer now; each of them bore the lifeblood of their folk, and every drop was precious.

"We can't forget him," she continued, scanning their dark, solemn faces. "Remember. His name was Akûlghaashug. Remember all those who have been lost since the valley. If we remember their names, they will always be with us, lending us their strength. Ghauriip and Dulugduf we lost on the march to this place. Recall how they... defied death. They denied its grip. Death had to _drag_ them down. That is what it is to be Uruk-hai." She paused for several moments with her head bowed, fighting not to blub like a baby. Rallying, she looked at them once more. "March one last time for me. Show me the Fighting Uruk-hai can still fight. Stand strong, and keep death at bay."

As the remaining Uruks slowly began to rise in preparation for the march, Romana, Mog and Kalus piled stones on Akûl's body. She wished she'd known the name of the sleeper who died before she and Rukh joined with Burzash's group. Just thinking about him and the nameless four barely clinging to life made her control slip, and she sobbed a little.

A fifth would soon join them if they didn't reach the Hornburg in time. Burzash, in his desperation after Akûl slipped into oblivion, tried to force feed the shivering one, anything to save him from the same fate. The thin, weak Uruk whimpered and protested, but had nothing else left to fight with. Rukh had to pull the leader off him lest his frustration overwhelm him and send the Uruk more quickly after his fellow.

Kalus paused in his work on the cairn and stared at Romana. "When I am gone, will you weep for me?" he smirked. She met his eyes, then laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, Kalus," she said, her voice trembling, "I will weep for you. For god's sake, don't make me prove it. _Please_."

Looking away uncomfortably, the Uruk focused on moving the stones.

* * *

"Glokrut won't last," Burzash growled, eying the shivering Uruk leaning against one of his fellows. For some reason, the leader felt particularly attentive to this one, likely because of his association with Akûl. "Won't go far on his own legs, either."

Rukh nodded, appraising the weak Uruk. "Is there room on a litter for him?"

"Aye," Burzash replied. "All of'em are skin and bones. He'll fit." Looking at the ground for a moment, he growled low in his throat. "I hate this. Watching them die. In battle, it would be expected. We cannot fight _this_ death. How can we keep it at bay when swords will not cut it?"

"We do what Romana tells us," Rukh replied with a shrug.

"Romana," Burzash hissed. "She is no wizard. Just a female. What can _she_ do? What can _any_ of us do?"

Rukh turned to the leader and glared at him. "She is more than that. Do you think you lot would have lived if she had not _insisted_ we join with you? Do you think _I_ wanted to? _I_ did not. I did not trust _any_ of you, not with her. But she did not want to let you die. And she _will_ not. Trust her. She knows what she is doing."

Sighing, Burzash backed down. "Apologies. I am... they die before me, and I can do _nothing_. Our people become less each day, and I am... I..."

Rukh gripped his shoulder and met his gaze. "I know."

"I would drag them back from death with my bare hands if I could," Burzash snarled, holding up his clenched fists. "They fall like sand through my fingers."

"We must hurry then," Rukh said firmly. "Keep them from falling."

"Are you boys ready?" Romana interrupted with false cheerfulness. Still caught up in his anger over Akûl's death, Burzash grunted, then rounded on her.

"Tell me," he hissed, poking her shoulder challengingly, "that this was Maukum's doing. Our Master is too far for punishment, but _he_ is near enough. Was it that fucker's treachery that doomed Akûl?"

Startled, Romana blinked at him with surprise. "Burzash, _everybody's_ sick. I don't know if he..."

"Many are sick, but not all are _dead_ ," he snapped. "Maukum took his rations, and now he is dead. I am not stupid."

"I never said you were," she said carefully. "I'm just not sure I can swear one way or the other..." Burzash puffed up, ready to deliver a tirade, and Romana held her hands up palm out to calm him. "I don't think it _helped_ ," she said quickly. Scrutinizing the Uruk's furious expression, she said, "Are you looking to cause trouble with Maukum? Because we have to get everyone moving. We don't have _time_ for this. Put it on hold for a bit, can you? There are more important things at stake here."

"You did not put your 'funeral' on hold," he retorted. "I will not hold _this_." Pushing past her, Burzash stomped away.

Romana met Rukh's gaze and was fairly certain his look of dread was mirrored on her own face.

* * *

"I wondered when you would come for me," Maukum sneered as Burzash approached. "Too soft. Too weak..." The leader didn't grant him the courtesy of a proper challenge. Roaring with fury, Burzash charged at the shorter Uruk, who met him with a fierce howl of his own.

Their bodies collided with resounding force. Maukum may have had a stockier build and had consumed more meat than his opponent, but Burzash had vengeance on his side. They grappled and clawed each other, and those Uruks in the near vicinity scrambled out of the way. Maukum pummeled Burzash's kidneys and ribs while the latter sank his teeth into the base of Maukum's neck and clamped down hard. The leader's strong claws dug into Maukum's back and tore ribbons through his bare flesh.

Each fought to gain advantage and push the other backwards, but they were nearly evenly matched. What Burzash lacked in strength, he made up for with rage at their master for leaving them in this state, for _leading_ them to such ruin. Maukum's insistence on continuing what their master began put him on an equal footing with the wizard, and gave Burzash a convenient target for his anger.

Rukh and Romana hurried to the scene of the fight. Rather than watch the spectacle, Rukh watched Romana. Would she step in and shame Burzash?

He never got an answer. Foshân, hearing the commotion, stormed across the camp and barrelled into the two combatants.

"Master say, no fight!" the berserker bellowed, pushing them apart. As had occurred before, Burzash made no attempt to assault the much bigger, simple-minded Uruk, and was spared the indignity of being flung bodily several yards. Maukum was not.

Burzash quivered with clenched fists, yellow eyes fixated on his opponent as Maukum awkwardly rose. He might have won, had the berserker left them at it. Akûl's death was not answered. Glokrut, barely aware of his surroundings and getting worse, was not paid for, either. Which others required Maukum's blood to compensate for their weakened state? How much closer to death were they all because of that little bastard?

"Easy," Romana said softly beside him, so quietly no one heard. Together they watched Rukh bodily steering Maukum to one of the litters. Since the upstart constantly boasted of his strength, she'd decided to put it to good use. Foshân shared the duty with him; she rather hoped he'd try harder if only to not be outdone by the larger Uruk.

"You did not stop me," Burzash growled.

"I thought about it," she confessed. "But this is between you two. And it's... an Orc thing, I guess. Not my business."

He scrutinized her for a long moment. Not knowing what else to say, he just snorted.

"Don't sweat the interruption," Romana continued in an undertone. "I don't think anyone thought he was winning." Grinning up at him, she added, "Way to kick ass."

Chuckling uncertainly, he couldn't resist puffing up a little at her praise.

"All right, people," she called, clapping her hands to get everyone's attention. "Show's over. Gotta move out. Litters in front, water bearers in the back. Mog and Kalus, you're on that duty. Rukh and I'll take the other litter. Burzash," she said, turning to him and trying to hide her smile, "lead on."

Nodding, Burzash barked additional orders, assigning the water bearers the job of watching for stumblers. Then he roared a command, and the Uruk-hai shuffled forward.

* * *

Maukum seethed, malevolent eyes fixed on Burzash. A moment more, and he would have beaten that plague-ridden bastard into the ground. All must know he was winning, that the claim to leadership was within his grasp. It was even more important to get Rukh on his side now, for _someone_ needed to keep the stupid berserker out of the fight next time.

It was a shame the whiteskin kept her distance; he would have been quite satisfied with a swipe at her smooth, flawless face. Whiteskins held great store by their looks, as he understood it. Ruining hers would please him.

Beside him, the simpleton marched happily, as if hauling the dead weight of three Uruks better left behind as carrion was the best duty he'd ever been assigned. The slow-wit was _humming_ , Maukum realized disdainfully. Had _she_ taught him such a thing? A trick for her pet to impress the other whiteskins? Was _that_ her intention, to show them as trainable slaves, an entertainment, a mockery, in exchange for not slaughtering them?

How he loathed the female. Once more, she stood in support of Burzash, that worthless sack of bones. Were he the recognized leader, there would be none of this coddling the weak, dragging the sick, hunting for so much meat. If they could not hunt their own game, _fuck_ them. Leave them behind, for they only hindered the strong.

It was what their Master would do, and Maukum saw no flaw in the wizard's reasoning.

* * *

"I am pleased," Rukh said quietly as he and Romana dragged their burden. It was hot work under the sun, but there was a cool breeze blowing, so it was bearable.

"What about?" she asked absently. Her focus was on the horizon, wondering how soon they'd see even the barest hint of the Hornburg ahead. She reasoned that as soon as they could see it, they should consider themselves on alert.

"You did not stop Burzash from fighting Maukum," he replied. "I know you do not care what happens to Maukum, but Burzash... he could have been killed."

"I know," she nodded, glancing at him. "I _almost_ did, but changed my mind. I've been kind of afraid to look too closely at him, even to see what his injuries might be. I don't want anything _I_ do to make anyone think he needs me fussing over him or something." Snorting a laugh, she added, "You should have seen him puff like a peacock when I told him he kicked ass."

"He is well enough," Rukh replied with amusement. "It is _Maukum_ who received the worst. He did not use claws and teeth as Burzash did. It was a mistake."

"Really?" Romana asked, looking at him curiously. "That makes a difference? I mean, besides the obvious."

Rukh nodded. "Maukum fought like a whiteskin, when they do not wish to kill. He sought to overpower and subdue. Humiliate."

"And Burzash?"

"He fought like an orc," Rukh said proudly. "He fought to kill."

"I kind of wish he'd managed it," she muttered. "The guy's a serious liability."

"A what?"

"A pain in the ass," she clarified with a chuckle. "If something isn't done with him before we reach Helm's Deep, he's going to undermine – _fuck up_ – everything we try to do."

"You want him dead?" Rukh asked, an eager gleam in his eye.

Giving the Uruk _the look_ , she reminded him, "It's not _my_ place, and as long as everyone thinks you do everything _I_ say, it's not yours either. Let Burzash deal with him."

Glowering, Rukh snarled, "I do not do _all_ that you say."

"Of course you don't, dear," she said sweetly, reaching over and patting his rear. A small growl purred in his chest for a moment before he stifled it and stared at her. She wiggled her eyebrows and grinned.

"Do you want me, Romana?" he asked in an undertone.

Her forehead pinched a little and she bit her lip. "Rukh... yes, I do. Not... in front of everyone, but... yeah."

He turned his gaze forward, a slow smile spreading across his brutal face. "I will do whatever you say, Romana."

"I thought you might," she said sarcastically. His grin broadened.

* * *

Privacy was difficult to be had with so many Uruks littering the field, but Rukh employed his superior senses of hearing and smell to find a relatively Uruk-free location far enough from the rest that, hopefully, any noise either of them made would go unnoticed, yet close enough that an attack on the main group would be heard. They opted to come together on the bare grass, for the blankets were currently occupied keeping the sleepers warm.

"God, I'm actually nervous," Romana said in a hushed voice as she sat with Rukh in the little copse of trees that provided them something akin to a 'room'. "You know we... we won't be able to do this a lot, after we get there."

"I know," he said. Sighing, he slowly removed his shirt. "There is much I would make up for. If I do not do it now, I will not have another chance."

"Don't think like that," she murmured. "One day at a time, okay?"

"As if it is the last day?" he suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, something like that," she replied.

Leaning back on her hands, still fully clothed, she watched him undress unabashedly. "You are so beautiful, Rukh," she breathed.

"I would see _your_ beauty," he purred, kneeling before her. He reached out and untied her tunic laces.

Smiling, she let him remove her clothes, wondering at the slow way he did it. Wasn't he as desperate for this as she was? Perhaps he wanted the time they'd stolen for themselves to last as long as possible. She certainly did.

They'd been surrounded by dying Uruk-hai for days, watched as one by one, they succumbed to illness and starvation. She had one indifferent Uruk, two fighting over who should be in charge, and another on suicide watch. Out of all twenty, only one was smiling, and _he_ was too simple to know any better.

Then there was Rukh. Alive and healthy, of course, but so much more. She'd already slept with him; that was no longer an issue. As the last several days unfolded and revealed more of this Uruk she'd grown so attached to, she realized he'd shown yet another part of himself she could admire.

He didn't do what Maukum was doing. Rukh acknowledged Burzash's leadership, accepting it without question. He didn't try to undermine the physically weaker Uruk, and he didn't challenge Burzash to a fight he couldn't possibly lose. It was intriguing to think about what change had come over the Uruk since she met him on the field of battle.

But not right now. At this moment, he was nuzzling her naked breasts, caressing her bare hips, driving her wild with desire.

Yet she stiffened, a tiny thread of discomfort going through her. Placing a lightly restraining hand on his shoulder, Romana said shakily, "I want... on top, Rukh. Let me be on top, please."

He hesitated only a moment. It was best, allowing her to dominate. This was worth learning. Well worth teaching. His eyes flicked to the bushes beside them for a moment. Testing the air, he nodded, satisfied.

"If it pleases you," he rumbled, lying on his back. Relieved, Romana turned to face him and caress his chest. He, in turn, continued stroking her body, gently urging her to mount him.

"Eager, aren't we?" she teased, climbing up to straddle his hips.

"Always," he grinned, his eyelids heavy with desire.

"Dammit, I just want to hold you for a minute," she sighed, lying flat on his chest and curling her arms under his shoulders. He embraced her in return. Resting her head on his shoulder, she whispered, "You feel good. I've missed you _so_ much."

"Kiss me," he growled. "Touch me. These things _I_ have missed."

"I'll do more than that," she whispered, capturing his mouth and letting herself dissolve.

Several minutes passed with her lying atop his body, not taking him inside her, just basking in his closeness, the beat of his heart, the steady breaths that told her he was _alive_.

The urgency to mate was infuriatingly powerful, but Rukh held it back. He'd frightened her before with his manner; he could not afford a repeat, especially not _now_. Kneading her buttocks, careful not to dig in with his claws, his chest fairly vibrated with a growling purr.

"That's pretty hot," Romana murmured, resting her palm on his heart. "How can a girl resist?" Supporting herself on her hands, she watched his face as she took him. His eyes rolled back and he groaned, his hands gripping her flesh more tightly.

She'd almost forgotten how it felt. Breath shuddering, she closed her eyes for a moment as she shifted back to seat his member completely within her body. She could stay just like this, suspended in this moment forever, and not be upset about it. More than at any other time, she felt connected with him, a part of him, as though he and she were _one_. Opening her eyes, she looked down and met his gaze.

He was trying so desperately hard not to be the Uruk who attacked her, the Uruk she'd seen in the palantír, the Uruk he used to be. She could see the struggle in every twitch of his face. He was fighting this battle _for her_.

 _Best not make him wait too long_ , she thought to herself with grateful amusement.

Without a word, she rose up and descended, stroking him at a slow and leisurely pace. Rukh's eyelids fluttered spasmodically and he grunted with every stroke. His jaw clenched on the roar he would have made were they not being discreet this close to the camp. He had forgotten the pleasures of mating with Romana as well. Even at this pace, he could feel his peak fast approaching. The swiftness of it was as alarming as it was disappointing.

Rukh's orgasm slammed through him with stunning force, arching his back and nearly throwing Romana off him. He let out a strangled cry he couldn't fully suppress, then slumped back down.

Gasping for breath, he looked up at Romana, humiliated. "Sorry," he muttered.

Smiling gently, she caressed his cheek, sitting still for a moment. "It's okay. This'll just take longer than we planned."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, until I get _mine_ , you've got work to do," she grinned playfully.

"Give me a moment," he replied, reaching up to fondle her breast. "And do not move."

"Oh, I've no intention," she assured him. "Found me a comfortable spot. I can sit here all night." She emphasized her statement by squeezing her inner muscles around his member. The growl she urged from him was low, long, and surprised.

Chuckling, he stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I am yours, Romana," he murmured.

She covered his hand with hers, turning her head enough to kiss the heel of his palm. "And _I_ am _yours_ , Rukhtorû," she whispered. His chest swelled with pleasure that she finally got his name right.

"Your mate is ready," he informed her, shifting his hips upward a little in a small buck. She grinned at him.

"All righty, then," she sighed happily, and began again.

This time, Rukh was more active. Before, he had accepted her dominance and lay quiescent beneath her. Now he held her hips in his hands and, feet braced, raised and lowered his hips under her. He could see how much greater her pleasure was in the expressions on her face, the way she bit her lip, and the little sounds she made.

There was more he needed to teach. "Romana," he said tightly, "my turn."

Nodding silently, she allowed him to turn her over without disengaging. Once on top, it was a strain to keep from doing what he used to do when in this position with a female. _Slow_ , he thought. _Gentle. Give **her** pleasure first._ Heaving great breaths to calm himself, he resumed the rhythm she set before, burying his member deeply with each stroke.

Romana was impressed. There was _much_ that had changed in Rukh. Making love with him _now_ seemed a hundred times more satisfying than before, when lust had driven them into one another's arms. When had they come to care so much for each other? When had _he_ grown from a warlike monster into the Uruk taking her to the mountaintop with gentle hands and that irresistible _purr_?

At the moment, she didn't care. He took his cues from her, speeding up only when she entreated him, putting more power behind his thrusts only when she begged him to. He flinched slightly when her blunt nails clawed his buttocks, for his hide was thinnest there. Perhaps he would bear her marks. The thought drove a feral growl from him, and he stepped up the pace. He was rewarded with her cries of pleasure becoming less and less controlled, and her nails digging deeper.

When she reached the height of her pleasure, he found the sight of her fulfillment too arousing not to swiftly join her. Only a few more strokes brought his second peak, greater in vigor than the first. He couldn't hold it in this time, and bellowed triumphantly... and quite loudly. But he didn't care. Maybe the others would stop grumbling about his musk if they knew he'd done something about it.

Weakened now, he rolled off her sweat-slicked body and cleaved close to her side, holding her in his arms. She embraced him in return, nuzzling his neck and chest. They said nothing, and simply relaxed, letting their breathing gradually return to normal.

Rukh's eyes returned to the bushes, then jerked his chin slightly. The bushes moved a little as the watchers retreated, and he covered their departure with a growling purr next to Romana's ear.


	33. Amazing What One Little Roll in the Hay Can Do

Never once in their lives within the bowels of Isengard were the Uruk-hai afforded privacy. They ate in large groups; they pissed and shit in front of their fellows; they took and received pleasures in the open before the eyes of many. The barracks were both the best and worst place to be; the best if you were a predator, the worst if you were prey. Very few Uruk-hai could boast of never having been preyed upon at least once.

For Mog, Kalus, and Burzash, no troubling thoughts entered their minds when Rukh offered them a chance to see for themselves how mating should be done. If anything, they were slightly surprised by the condition of concealment. In their experience, if an Uruk was looking for a fuck, he didn't care who saw him get it. Some considered it a mark of pride to overpower another and spill seed inside him before he could wrestle himself free. The more who witnessed the conquest, the better.

But this wasn't Isengard, and Romana wasn't another Uruk. Rukh was adamant that they remain hidden and silent. He made it quite clear, on pain of death, that they not line up for a turn afterwards, either.

"A mate is for one," he told them sternly. "She is not shared. When you are claimed by her, _you_ are not shared, either."

It was a strange concept. None of them spent very much time talking to their cousins from Mordor and the Misty Mountains who toiled under the wizard's rule, and so did not know what one did to claim a mate, or even how to _treat_ one.

After witnessing Rukh and Romana coupling in the darkness beyond the camp, the three watchers were overwhelmed by the many thoughts and feelings assaulting them all at once. The first and most immediate feeling was a desperate need for relief. And because Isengard was not a place for private pleasures enjoyed in solitude, they sat with their backs pressed together, as was common in the crowded conditions of their home, and assuaged their need.

When all three had caught their breath from such vigorous activity in their weakened condition, they slowly turned to face each other and talk.

For several moments, they simply sat there, staring at nothing as they tried to come to terms with what they'd witnessed. Kalus was the first to awkwardly break the silence.

"That is... mating," he ventured.

Mog nodded. "Yeah."

"The female must be... on top," Kalus observed. "Dominant."

"Perhaps," Mog conceded thoughtfully.

Looking at him curiously, Kalus asked, "Have you seen them... when _he_ was dominant?"

"Not seen them before at all," Mog replied. "First time." His voice tapered off to an awed whisper and he looked away again, lost in his own thoughts.

"We must do the same, then," Burzash said quietly. "Let the female dominate."

"You two are blind," Mog growled softly. "Did you not see him move atop her?"

"Yes, but...," Burzash began, then faltered. He shook his head. "It was not the same as when we... It seemed she still... He..." Burzash sagged and sighed. "It was just not the same."

"He didn't... harm her with it," Kalus said awkwardly. "He... it _looked_ like he pleased her. Even when he was... on top."

" _My_ cock has never pleased anyone," Mog spat angrily, looking away. "Nor yours, I trust."

"No," Kalus admitted bitterly.

"I think it is more than that," Burzash said thoughtfully. "Did you hear their words? See how... _she_ touched _him_? Guided him? I think... we must give the female... what she wants... when she wants it... and _how_ she wants it. If that means she is... above us... then we accept it."

Kalus nodded in agreement. "I did not think I would ever... consider it. Giving such... power... to another. We are Orcs. We _take_."

Shaking his head, Burzash sighed, "Not anymore. We must learn to accept what is given. And we must give in return. That is the lesson _I_ learned."

"I do not understand why she gives _us_ so much," Mog muttered. "Or why I want to give _her_... whatever she wants. My sword, my word, my honor... If she asks it, I will give it. It ain't the way I ever thought before."

Kalus stared at his hands worrying a stick in his lap and nodded grudgingly. "She praised my skins. She... put her hand on me... without flinching or looking... disgusted or... frightened. She tries to give me hope when I feel none." He chuckled humorlessly.

"She cares for all of us," Mog said. "Am I so broken that I will give her _anything_ she asks? Even if it is my life?"

"You want her for a mate?" Kalus asked, arching his brow and fixing Mog with an expectant look. Mog laughed a little.

"I would mate with her in a heartbeat, but no," he said. "I ain't a fool. Rukh ain't generous. He won't share his good fortune. And I don't think she'd want me herself. I gotta accept _that_ as well." Bowing his head, he growled, "Gonna have to find my own."

Kalus snorted. "I wish you luck. I'll likely not see you receive such a boon. Sure won't have it myself." Snorting, he tossed the stick away. "She is a fool to promise me such things," Kalus snarled sullenly. What he had seen... it was so different from what he'd witnessed in raids, what he'd done himself. There was shared pleasure between them... Romana both embraced and _enjoyed_ something from Rukh that the Uruk-hai had always used as a weapon of terror. Shaking his head, he muttered, "Never thought... females... could _like_ it."

"Not the way _we've_ done it, they don't," Burzash said quietly. "He didn't do it like we were taught, did he?"

"No," Kalus agreed.

"You hear what he told her?" Mog said. "Said he was hers."

"She said the same," Kalus noted. "She's _his_."

"I think... I think we did wrong, watching," Burzash said hesitantly.

The other two looked at him curiously. "Why?" Mog asked. "Rukh _asked_ us to watch."

"That was... not... for all to share," Burzash replied. "It was between _them._ It was not for _us_."

"You don't think she knew we were there?" Kalus asked, arching his brow.

Burzash chuckled humorlessly. "No, I don't. I don't think she would be pleased if she _did_ know." Narrowing his eyes, he fixed each of them with a warning scowl. "We must keep it secret. Do not tell her."

Mog thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Don't think she'd be happy about it."

Thinking back, Kalus slowly nodded his agreement. The way they'd touched each other... the tenderness of it whispered in the back of his mind something familiar, almost instinctive. It told him what they shared was _private_. It had 'none of your fucking business' written all over it. While the _experience_ of privacy was foreign, the concept was understood.

"Why the fuck did he ask us to watch, then?" Kalus growled.

Sighing, Burzash said, "He told me we must be 'gentle' with a mate. I didn't know what the fuck he was talking about. Now... I do."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Mog nodded. "Wouldn't have known myself. I just... ain't never _seen_ it, you know? Us bein' gentle. Us... not... forcin'..." He winced and looked away. It seemed obscene now, what they'd done.

"Should've stayed in camp," Kalus muttered. "Told him to go fuck himself _and_ his bitch. Ever since she came to us, it's been a fucking misery."

Mog raised his head and glared. "Kalus, you owe her your life."

Curling his lip, Kalus gestured at the leader. " _Burzash_ pulled me from the water. _Not_ Romana."

"And you keep trying to go back to it," Mog snapped. "She'll continue to thwart you. I suggest you _stop_."

"There is nothing for us, Mog," Kalus hissed. "If we're lucky enough to live past the gates, we will be chained. They won't let us walk free once we're in their hands. Perhaps they will... torment us... torture us... wanting information we don't have." Arching his brow, he growled, "Are you prepared for that?"

"I don't think she'd let them," Mog replied.

"Who among _them_ would listen to a female?" Kalus scoffed.

"We have," Burzash noted. "They _must_ have heard her when she was there, for Rukh still lives."

"How did she manage it, eh?" Kalus snarled. "We don't know. She might have fucked the entire garrison to get her way. I cannot imagine a Man would be any less swayed than _us_ by such persuasions."

"You are determined to see darkness though the sun shines in your face," Burzash growled. "What is it you want, Kalus? Will nothing short of a female to _fuck_ satisfy you?"

Kalus flinched as if Burzash's words stung.

"He's afraid," Mog said softly, his yellow eyes fixed on Kalus.

Bristling, Kalus glowered at Mog. "I fear nothing. I am Fighting Uruk-hai!"

"You fear living," Mog snarled. "And you are _sniveling_ Uruk-hai."

Struck speechless, Kalus's jaw worked silently for a moment. Burzash glared at Mog.

"Mind your tongue, whelp," he growled.

"Look at him!" Mog snapped, meeting Burzash's eyes but pointing an accusing finger at the sputtering Kalus. "He is pathetic! 'Gimme someone for fucking or I'll kill myself,' he told her. Let him stick his head in the stream, the worthless _pushdug_. Less of _that_ is what we need."

"I... don't... _want_... someone... for _fucking!_ " Kalus roared. Had he more strength, he would have launched himself on Mog for such insults. But he had been so successful starving himself, his reactions were slowing, his limbs too weak to do more than carry him along with the rest of the pathetic band.

"What the fuck do you _want_ , then, eh?" Mog barked. "At least _I_ admit it. _I_ want a mate. _I_ want what Rukh has. _I_ would give my _nutsack_ for a chance at it."

Face twitching, lips curling, Kalus held Mog's gaze for long moments before he finally broke and looked away. Mog smirked, satisfied. "That's what I thought. You want it too. Maybe we'll make a nice couple of pouches outta our sacks, eh?"

Kalus glanced at Mog's face, now grinning with understanding. He felt himself smiling a little, but only for a moment. The brief indulgence of admission to such a desire reminded him of why they were there in the first place.

He had believed for years that the whiteskin females who slew those whelps were unreasonably cruel. Having now seen the way the whelps _ought_ to have been made... "We... deserve... to die," he whispered. "All of us. Shouldn't never have been _born_." He looked from Mog's stunned face to Burzash's. "What we've done... They're gonna kill us all. They got the _right_ to do it." His breathing quickened as the full weight of their history hit him in the chest.

"We didn't know," Burzash growled. "Don't forget _that_. We did what we were told. He didn't tell us right or wrong. He put swords in our hands, soon as our eyes opened. He didn't give us _nothing_ else. _Remember that_."

"How can I fucking _forget_?" Kalus snapped. "I look at us and the curse of our making is all over our faces! The filth we were dragged from covers us like slime that ain't _never_ washin' off! Someone like Romana comes once, and never again. Rukh's got her; we won't see another. We got two choices: keep fucking whiteskins by force, or kill ourselves now before the whiteskins get a hold of us."

"You can do that?" Burzash rumbled quietly. "Knowing what you know now... seeing that... can you do it? Can you run down a female like we always did, and fuck her while she's screaming and fighting against you? Can you do it?"

Kalus could only hold the leader's steady, challenging gaze for a few moments before looking uncomfortably away. "No."

"Good," Burzash said, betraying a note of relief in his gruff voice. "You'd be no better than Maukum with that kind of thinking. I see something better in you." He snorted with amusement. "Rukh must've seen it, too, or you wouldn't have gotten invited to the show."

"What the fuck good was it, eh?" Kalus snarled. "Showin' off, he was. He got his; where the fuck is _mine_?"

"Maybe you stop tryin' to drown yourself, Romana'll get yuh one," Mog said quietly.

Burzash glared at Mog for a moment, then turned back to Kalus. "Don't know what _you_ got outta that, but _I_ know how to treat a mate now. _I_ ain't gonna go knockin' a female down and takin' what I want again, cause if she _wants_ me..." He paused as recollection of the mating sent a wave of arousal through him, stiffening his member and rendering him momentarily breathless. "If she _wants_ me," he went on, "it feels better. Didn't it _look_ like it felt better?"

"Looked that way to _me_ ," Mog agreed.

"So what if it did?" Kalus snapped desperately. "We weren't _made_ for that! He didn't breed us for it. He didn't tell us nothin' about it. He didn't even let females get _made_! He didn't..."

"Yes, he did," Burzash said quietly, looking away.

Wrong-footed, Kalus halted and stared at his leader. "What?"

"Whattayou mean?" Mog asked, narrowing his eyes.

Swallowing uncomfortably, Burzash kept his eyes down. "He didn't _stop_ them from being made, put it that way. Don't think even _he_ could keep them from being born sometimes."

"Females... of _our_ kind?" Mog hissed incredulously.

"Not many know about it," Burzash said quietly. "The ones that made them... didn't talk about it. For some, I suppose it was a mark of shame. Master wanted males to fight in his army. Make a female... he got mad. Didn't want those. Like as not, the stupid bastard that made one got whipped for it."

"What... happened to'em?" Mog whispered.

"Slaughtered," Burzash growled through gritted teeth. "Every last one. Soon as he knew what they were."

"That... fucking... _cunt_ ," Kalus snarled. Mog nodded, too shocked to say anything.

"Aye," Burzash agreed. "Like I said, nobody talked about it. Had to hear about it from one who thought he was gonna die anyway, so it didn't fucking matter. We were holed up in a tight spot. Maybe thought he needed to tell _somebody_ before... I don't know. Anyway, he... he said Master made you sorry you whelped a female. Course, Master acted like he was giving them a gift. Like it was something _special..._ a _treat_." He grimaced and his lip curled in a snarl. "Didn't know a fucking thing about us."

"What'd he do?" Kalus asked.

"He... gave the females to the ones that made them... handed them their _own whelp_... for eating." Several muscles in Burzash's face twitched. "Glad the cunt's dead."

Fighting his gorge down, Mog swallowed. "He ain't." Burzash looked up sharply. "Romana said he ain't dead."

"Maybe we oughta _make_ him dead," Kalus snarled. "Forget this runnin' to Helm's Deep shit. Turn our asses back around."

"Don't be stupid," Mog snapped. "Look at us. We couldn't beat a fucking _rabbit_ in a fair fight, and you wanna go take on our _master_?"

Kalus crumpled, and his shoulders sagged. "What're we gonna do, then? Can't mate, can't fight, can't make nobody pay who owes us, can't pay back the ones _we_ owe..."

"You better not say 'lay down and die,' you stupid fucker," Mog snarled. "I know what _I_ gotta do now. I know I gotta tell whoever's gonna listen that I'm fucking sorry. And I know I... I _gotta_ tell'em, even if they spill my guts a heartbeat after I say it. Cause you know somethin'? It's what's _right_. Feels right, smells right, looks right... You learn _that_ , and maybe there'll be a chance for you."

"Chance of what?" Kalus growled.

"Forgiveness."


	34. My Enemy, My Brother

"Damn," Romana breathed, shading her eyes against the sun. The dim outline of the fortress in the distance was a welcome sight, and one she'd longed for. The last two days, she'd run what was left of these Uruk-hai ragged, getting them up at the crack of dawn and driving them ever southward well past nightfall. There just wasn't a choice anymore; Glokrut died in transit the previous day, and the sleeper Rukh pulled from the river was no longer responding to Romana's desperate attempts to get broth into him. Two more collapsed from illness and exhaustion, joining their comatose brethren on the litters for there were too few to support them on foot now.

Even Kalus, so little affected by the others' sickness, was too weak to take another step. His own efforts at self-destruction had more than adequately paid off, and he lacked the strength to go on.

On the other hand, the nearness of Helm's Deep meant they were all in even more dire straits. If they were seen – and nineteen black figures on the banks of the Deeping Stream were hard to miss in any weather – Erkenbrand was likely to send an _eored_ down to wipe them out. Romana dreaded the coming confrontation with the man. But looking at her charges, she knew she could _not_ let them down.

"Okay," she said, turning to Burzash. "I think... this is far enough."

He didn't need to scan the Uruks' conditions to agree; he knew what he'd see. Nodding, he said, "You, uh... you sure about this?"

"As sure as I can be," she replied, then turned to Rukh. "I'm going on ahead. I need you to stay here and... you know... help. The sleepers need..."

"You will go without me?" Rukh asked, startled. His brow furrowed and an uncomfortable look crossed his face.

"Yeah," Romana nodded. "I have to. Look, you're still strong. Burzash needs you here. _I_ need you here." Looking over the survivors, most of them lying in heaps like debris washed up after a storm, her face crumpled. "I know you can't... but I need you to try. Keep them alive." Turning pleading eyes to him, she whispered, "You're a part of me, Rukh. If I can't be here, it... makes it easier to leave knowing _you_ are."

He shook his head. "No. I cannot let you. You are my _mate_. Your place is at my side. I will go with you."

Taking his hands, she held them firmly. "I'm just going a mile from here, and only for a day or so. I'll be back. I _swear_ it. You'll hardly notice I'm gone." She smiled as encouragingly as she could. "If I can't get them to send help, I'll come back alone, but I _will_ come back. Count on it."

"But... I cannot... you will not be where I can...," he faltered. It was the strangest feeling; his gut clenched at the thought of her being too far away from him to protect. "What if... they do not _let_ you come back?"

Romana gave him an amused look. "Really? You think they could? Honestly, Rukh, how long have you known me?"

"But you are my _mate_ ," he repeated more urgently. "I... I can't... I can't let you go."

The desperate way he looked at her sobered Romana completely, and she gently touched his cheek. "I'm not going away, Rukh. I'm just... going over _there._ And _I will be back_ , with or without help. I will be back. I promise you. You're my mate, too."

Rukh lowered his voice and whispered, "You will not fuck him, will you?"

Had he not looked deadly serious, and truly worried that she might, Romana would have laughed at the ludicrous statement. But she remembered she'd flippantly told him she would if that were required to save the Uruk-hai. She hadn't really thought he'd believed her until now.

"No," she said, shaking her head firmly. "No, Rukh, I wasn't serious. I will not, even if he asks for it. I _won't_. I promise you that." Placing both hands on his shoulders, she made him look at her. "It's _okay_. I'll be fine. And I _will_ come back to you."

Though it still pained him, the thought of her not being close for any length of time, Rukh reluctantly nodded. He gripped her hips and lowered his forehead to hers.

"I will wait for you," he whispered.

"Don't forget to feed the kids," she murmured back, then kissed his lips. Drawing away, she caressed his cheek, marvelling at the look on his face. Was he so completely attached to her he suffered separation anxiety just _anticipating_ her absence? What the hell was _that_ about?

Actually, she had to admit a little discomfort at the thought of being away from _him_ as well. Life was so precarious out here, with their charges dying slowly all around them. Maybe she wondered if she'd come back and find them all dead.

Even Rukh.

Taking a deep breath, she looked about her. A few of the Uruks were watching with fascination, and she was a little embarrassed to have had such an intimate moment in front of the crowd. Oddly enough, the only ones with a modicum of their cognitive functions still intact who _weren't_ staring at her and Rukh were Burzash, Mog, and Kalus.

She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip, looking away. There was wary trust in those yellow eyes. She'd brought them this far; the true test was coming. Maybe some of them expected betrayal. Maybe they _all_ did. She would just have to disappoint them.

Turning to Burzash, she said, "If anyone comes, you need to surrender."

"I will _not_ fucking surrender!" Burzash barked, his ire rising swiftly.

"You _have_ to," she insisted, placing a restraining hand on his tense shoulder. "No one can fight. There are too few of you who can put up any resistance at all. And I want you alive. I want to see _all_ of you alive when I come back. Please, Burzash," she insisted, her voice trembling. "Beg mercy. On your knees, if you have to. Swallow your pride and surrender."

Burzash clenched his jaw and looked away. There was no denying her words with bluster and posturing.

A few yards away, an emaciated, weakened Uruk whose strength had abandoned him, whose illness had taken away the ability to keep more than a mouthful of meat down at any meal, sat trembling and looking up at her. She would have liked to close her eyes and not see him like this. If only she could look at another and see something different. But the sick ones who were still able to walk were all like him. Those who _couldn't_ walk, were worse.

Stepping around Burzash, she crouched in front of him. Reaching back in her memory, for there were so many of them and their faces were beginning to blend as deprivation robbed them of the unique features that set them apart, she pulled out his name.

"Khûriip," she murmured, and stroked his sunken cheek. "There will be a time for defiance. Now is not it. Survive this, and you will be strong again. I'll see to it."

His eyes, once as fierce as any of his kind, were rheumy with fever and glistening. His lips trembled as much from the chill in his bones as the despair in his heart. Yet he held his head up a fraction, and whispered weakly, "I... am Fighting... Uruk-hai."

"Yes you are," Romana replied, and felt a tear run down her face. "Yes you are."

Standing, she looked at each face, memorizing them, counting them. Apart from Rukh, there were nineteen, where once the plains shook beneath the marching feet of ten thousand. Who knew how many were lost in the valley itself? How many who were not soldiers, but merely laborers, animal tenders, servants, smiths? Builders like Mog, tanners like Kalus?

She had to tear herself away. It would be a long jog, and half the day was lost already. "You're in charge, Burzash. Obviously." Glancing at Maukum's sneering face, she added, "If you feel the need to kill anything, I'm sure Maukum'll help you out in that area."

"Go bring the horselords, bitch," Maukum snarled. "We await their butchery on our fucking _knees_."

Rolling her eyes, she turned her back on him. "I made broth for the sleepers, Burzash. _Please_ make sure..."

"We'll feed'em," he quietly assured her. "Rukh'll take yours. I... I wanted to help..." He faltered and bowed his head.

"It wasn't your fault," she replied, patting his shoulder. "Glokrut was too far gone already. It's a wonder the four have made it this far."

"You been good to'em," he said tightly. "To all of us. Except Maukum." He bared his teeth in a grin.

"Maukum can go fuck himself," she whispered, letting a half smile curve one side of her mouth. "Don't let him get to you. I want everyone alive, and I trust you as much as Rukh to do that. So don't turn your back on that pile of shit. You can beat him in a fair fight, but I don't think he'll fight fair."

"Let him try," Burzash growled, glowering at Maukum.

"I promise I won't shed a tear if I come back and find him, you know, dead and stuff," she offered, and Burzash chuckled. Romana lightly punched his shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid, now. This isn't a time for heroics. It's a time for keeping everyone's ass alive. If he even _hints_ at turning betrayor, kill him. I suspect you don't need my permission for that, but nevertheless, you have it."

"Good to know you will not weep for him," Burzash said. "He does not deserve it."

"No, he doesn't," she replied. "Now I'd better get moving. It's just... hard. I'm worried sick about you all already."

"Go," he said, and pushed her shoulder a bit. "We will be here when you return."

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. Turning to Rukh, she embraced him once more. Then she steeled herself and turned toward the fortress. As distance grew, she could hear Burzash barking orders to the few able to follow them, calling for more firewood to be gathered, the sickest to be brought closer to the fire for warmth, rations to be distributed. She broke into a run.

* * *

Romana estimated she was nearing the battlefield when she saw the first Riders. A pair of them were apparently patrolling. She didn't need to call for their attention; in moments they wheeled around and galloped toward her.

Trotting to a halt, she leaned over with her hands on her knees and took great gulps of air. _You are not an Orc, Romana_ , she told herself ruefully. Even so short a run as that nearly dropped her. Definitely not an Orc.

"Hold!" one of the men called as he and his fellow neared. "What business have you... Madam!" Startled, he pulled up and dismounted, then strode to her. His eyes ran up and down her form, disbelieving. "Unless my eyes deceive me, you are that woman who healed the Orc after the battle, are you not?"

Nodding, Romana straightened. "Yeah, it's me. I need to see Erkenbrand. Is he still in the keep?"

Both men were now standing by her, incredulous. The first shook himself. "I almost did not recognize you. A woman who goes about in a soldier's raiment..."

"Okay, sexist bullshit later," Romana snapped. "I need to see Erkenbrand. I trust you know who _that_ is?"

The second man cleared his throat. "Of course we do. He is in the keep, ma'am. What is your business with him?"

"My business is none of yours," she replied. "I'm in a monstrous hurry. Can you _please_ take me to him?"

"Did you not leave the keep in the company...," the first began, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

" _Yes_ ," she said, exasperated. "No time. Erkenbrand. _Now_."

The first man bristled, but the second had evidently either dealt with Romana before, or was at least familiar with her. "Easy, Wulfhere. Yes, ma'am. We'll take you."

"Thank you," she sighed with relief. Romana wasn't sure she would have held back the storm of pissy that was poised and ready to roll over these guys. Every moment wasted...

Swallowing any further words that might compromise things, she mounted the horse behind the second Rider and galloped the rest of the way to Helm's Deep.

* * *

Only because Romana insisted, Erkenbrand met her with the widow in charge of the garrison's healers in tow. Her brow furrowed as she followed the Lord of the Westfold into the great hall, empty at this time of day, and found the woman drinking thirstily from a tankard of mead. Romana shot to her feet as soon as she saw them.

"My lord," she said respectfully, approaching Erkenbrand boldly and offering to shake his hand. Because of the 'incident' with Rukh in this very hall, he wasn't inclined to accept it. Folding his arms over his chest, he glared down at her.

"You left with that Orc," he stated, and Romana slowly lowered her hand.

"Yes," she replied solemnly. "His name is Rukhtorû. I left with him, and now I'm coming back. _With_ him."

"Where is he?" Erkenbrand growled.

"He... stayed behind with... others," she said awkwardly. "And they're... who I want to talk to you about."

"What... _others_?" the Lord of the Westfold barked impatiently.

Biting her lip and wincing, Romana said quietly, "Other Uruk-hai. There's twenty of them now. Counting Rukh."

" _Twenty_?" he roared. "Where did you find them?"

"Rukh and I traveled northwest and found the River Isen," she explained. "It was... choked with debris from the flooding in Isengard. Timbers, mostly. And... bodies. Hundreds and hundreds. Somehow, a few survived. We pulled them out." Faltering, she rubbed her face shakily. "There was a larger group that... managed to crawl out of it, and we joined with them."

Erkenbrand's face was contorted with revulsion, and Romana had to remind herself that he hadn't spent a week or more with them. He couldn't possibly know... All he could see was what they'd done in his territory for the last however many years. It pained her immeasurably to think she had to justify for this man what she was asking on behalf of the Uruk-hai.

"I know how you feel," she said as steadily as she could. "I know it's been... a rough bunch of years, dealing with the attacks and the terrorism and the abuse. But they're sick, they're broken, and they're _dying_." Taking a shuddering breath, she went on, "You never heard a single complaint about Rukh's behavior while he was here. I know you didn't. Maybe they won't all be just like him, but I doubt you'll have any trouble from them because... they can't _make_ trouble."

Remembering Maukum, she grimaced. "Well, except for one. With any luck, Burzash will have killed him off by the time I get back."

"What are you talking about?" Erkenbrand said sternly.

"I'm... asking you," Romana said carefully, "to help them."

" _Help_ them?" he roared, suddenly infuriated. "Orcs? You want me to help _Orcs_? This is what you are asking?"

"I'm _begging_ you," she said, and her voice shook with the effort to keep from bawling in front of this man. "I can't help them myself. Four are in comas. I can barely get broth into them. One won't take broth at all now. They're starving. They're sick. They can't keep food down. I've had to bury five of them. It's not like seeing them in battle. They're _suffering_."

Erkenbrand fixed her with a stony glare. "I have no sympathy for them. They are our enemy."

Taking a deep breath, Romana said coldly, "So were the Dunlendings."

"What?" he said, startled.

"Théoden forgave them, after Helm's Deep," she went on. "He sent them home. I have talked to the Uruk-hai. They told me what the Dunlendings did, when they raided together in your territory. They were no better than the Uruks, and you forgave _them_."

"They were under the influence...," Erkenbrand said slowly as if he was speaking to a slow-witted child.

"So were the Uruk-hai!" Romana interrupted hotly. "They were _made_ by Saruman. They had _no reason_ to hate you. Saruman told them to. They had no choice; he spoke in their minds. He _commanded_ them. Now that his Voice is silent, they are thinking for _themselves_." Her anger receded as quickly as it flared; how could she make him _see_? "They don't want to fight. If you would _help_ them, you could teach them the things Saruman _didn't_."

"What sort of _things_?" Erkenbrand asked warily. To Romana's relief, he seemed to be softening by degrees. Very few of them, granted...

"Mercy," she suggested quietly. "Honor. Compassion. I'm just one person; if they saw it from _you_ – you _and_ your people – it would mean so much more."

"They have _ever_ been our enemies...," he said pointedly once more.

"Yes, I know," Romana nodded. "So have the Dunlendings, and they were granted amnesty. They got to go home." She shook her head, barely keeping her tears at bay. "The Uruk-hai _have_ no home anymore. The Dunlendings did things in the Westfold that would _appall_ you, yet they were forgiven. They are Men; they knew right from wrong. The Uruk-hai were never _taught_ right and wrong. They did what they were told by someone who should have known better." Holding his gaze steadily, she added, "Tell them something _different,_ and they'll listen."

"The things they have done here...," Erkenbrand began, only to be cut off again. Romana just did not want him to get started.

" _I know_ ," she said urgently, her brow pinched with apology. "They've done a lot, I know they have, and I am _so sorry_. I understand." She swallowed and bowed her head. "They think you'll torture them. They're certain you'll murder them as soon as you see them. The only reason why they agreed to let me come here is because I _promised_ them I wouldn't let that happen."

Meeting his eyes again, she said, "Do you know... how they were made?"

Erkenbrand's face went slack, yet his back stiffened. Eyes widening, he growled, "I do not want to know."

"Maybe you _need_ to," she snapped. "You _have_ to know that women disappeared..."

Shuddering violently, the Lord of the Westfold flinched and looked away. "They were slain," he muttered. "All of them... none survived..."

"You saw Rukh's face," she said quietly. "You _know_ that isn't true." Taking a deep breath, Romana went for broke. If nothing else would convince him, maybe a bond of blood _would_. "Their mothers are women of Rohan, Erkenbrand."

"If you say... they are _my people..._ ," he snarled contemptuously.

"They were _bred_ from your people," she said quietly. "Whether that grants them enough _value_ to be considered living, breathing beings in need of your _help_... is for you to decide."

Silent up to this point, the healer let out a shuddering breath. Romana glanced over.

"It is... an ugly truth... that I suppose we must accept," the healer said quietly. Holding her head up, she asked, "What is their condition? What ails them?"

Romana had to fight to keep from showing any signs of relief. Questions weren't invitations. "The worst is the vomiting. Anything they take in comes right back up. Beyond that is the diarrhea and the fevers. They're shaking from chills and burning to the touch. Mind you, Orcs are pretty hot-blooded as it is, but the sickest ones are just... hot as skillets on a stove. They breathe shallow and fast. They're normally very dark-skinned, but most of them are pale grey. A few are in pretty good shape, but about half are like the walking dead. Then there are the four we call sleepers." Swallowing, she struggled against her sorrows. She'd never been a medical person, able to just rattle off things like this as if she were reading a report. They were her friends, and suffering terribly with these symptoms. It wasn't easy, and her voice shook. "They're in comas. Not responding to anything. We're almost forcing them to take in broth; at least they swallow. One has stopped even responding _that_ much." Tears suddenly poured down her face and she sagged. A sob tore from her. "He's going to die, and I can't... do... _anything_ to stop it. Please... _help them."_

The healer pulled Romana into her embrace and shushed her gently. "There, now. You have tended them yourself?"

Gripping the woman tightly, Romana gasped, "I've done the best I could. I've even gotten the healthier ones to help." She laughed bitterly. "They didn't understand, some of them, why I'm 'coddling the weak' as they see it. They're starting to get it. This is the last of them." Another wave of despair rocked her. "There'll be no more. Every one of them... is precious." Dissolving in tears, Romana wept on the woman's shoulder.

The healer met Erkenbrand's eyes. He didn't look quite as adamantly against the idea as he had before, and she latched onto it.

"Bring them," she said firmly.

"I beg your pardon?" Erkenbrand said.

"Bring them," she repeated. "Perhaps you do not afford this woman any sort of respect, but after all they have done, for a _woman_ to shed tears on their behalf, they must be deserving. Bring them, and we shall tend them. After all, we tended the Dunlendings, and _they_ _knew better_."

Drawing back, Romana looked into the healer's eyes with tearful relief. " _Thank you_ ," she breathed.

"I have not agreed...," Erkenbrand began, but slammed his mouth shut in the face of the healer's stern look. Sighing with defeat, he growled, "Very well. But I want them under guard."

"Of course, of course," Romana said shakily, wiping her tears away briskly. "I totally understand."

"I suppose we shall need to provide... transport," he added grudgingly.

"Yes," Romana nodded. "I don't think they can move another inch. I drove them so hard..." Her raw emotions threatened to pull her under again, and she swallowed hard. Taking a deep breath, she added, "They're going to need clothing, too. They used all they had for bandages." A slight chuckle made her smile. "You have nineteen naked Orcs out on the plains."

The healer blushed and looked away. Erkenbrand stared at Romana in horror. "You have... tended them... and they are... _unclothed_?"

Shrugging, she said, "You get used to it after awhile."

* * *

Rukh patiently cradled the unresponsive Uruk in his arms, trying to ease some broth between his lips. Where the other three put up a feeble protest, sometimes even whimpering, this one no longer made any sound or even swallowed. Only the movement of his chest informed them he still lived. Rukh's attempts had managed only to trickle a tiny amount into his mouth, which he choked on.

Glancing up, Rukh met Mog's eyes. No words were needed; hope was all but gone for this one. Burzash was having better luck with his, and even Foshân was not so challenged with the fourth sleeper as Rukh was with the first.

"You waste your time with all of them," Maukum snarled at a distance. "Let them lie. They are not worth..."

The sudden alertness of the others shut Maukum up, and he whirled in the direction they were staring. Squinting across the distance, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Rukh eased his charge down and stood.

"Wagons," he said. "They're coming." Even so far away, he knew his mate was sitting in the lead wagon next to a tall yellow-haired man. A surge of relief hit him; she looked well. None had harmed her. She was coming back to him.

Joining him, Burzash shaded his eyes to see better. "There's some females besides Romana," he observed. "Wonder who they are?"

"Does it matter?" Mog asked. "They're coming for us. Maybe... if they got females... they ain't coming to kill us."

"Sure as fuck aren't coming to hand them over," Burzash growled. As the wagons got closer and more details became apparent, he faltered, and muttered to Rukh with slight embarrassment, "For the first time in a week, I wish I had pants on."


	35. Load Up the Truck and Move to Beverly

Much as she wanted to embrace Rukh upon seeing him again, for he looked so terribly relieved, Romana held it back. Not only was Erkenbrand watching warily, but so were a dozen Rohirrim soldiers and half a dozen of their healers. Thankfully, the tall Uruk seemed to grasp that now was not the time for such intimacies, and simply jerked his chin at her, though his fists clenched in agitation.

"Eadburga," Romana said, leading the head healer toward the cluster of embarrassed Uruk-hai standing with their hands firmly shielding their privates, "this is Burzash. He's their leader. Anything you need from them, you'll have to go through him."

Burzash could barely muster the wherewithal to raise his head, but managed it. He was, after all, Fighting Uruk-hai. What did he care that he was stripped bare in front of a load of whiteskins? Why did it even matter at the moment? Other than the inexplicable sense of utter vulnerability that being in such a state afforded him. Maybe the Master's Voice stole the caring for such things away from him, and now that it was gone...

"That is, I suppose, expected," the woman said nervously. "I am... pleased to meet you, Burzash."

He lifted his chin and gave her a quick nod of acknowledgement.

"Here, maybe this will help," Romana said, and handed him a pair of breeches. Then she took her handful of clothing to the next Uruk, leaving him to handle things. He was careful to keep himself shielded as he accepted them, then turned away from the healer to swiftly put them on. Like magic, he felt stronger and more able to hold his head up proudly now. Taking a deep breath, he faced the healer and looked her boldly in the eyes.

His face went slack and his eyes widened.

Seemingly oblivious, Eadburga continued, "Romana has told me of your plight, and that you were the one who pulled many of your folk from the river."

Stumbling awkwardly, Burzash forced himself to respond. "Aye. I did." A strange... warmth filled him, looking in her eyes, and he had no idea what it was or what caused it. Many odd things were happening in his body; a clench in his gut, a ripple of longing in his loins. Unlike what he'd felt in raids or in the breeding pits, this wasn't a 'knock her down and fuck her' sort of stirring. He had a hard time defining it, and could only compare it to a sense of... relief. Of resting after a long march, or having a meal when starved. It tingled in his nerves and called him to her. It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time.

And so terribly inappropriate right now, given the precarious position they were in. He hastily dropped his eyes, hoping the break in contact would make it go away.

It didn't, and he grew worried.

Eadburga had never seen an Orc so close. Even in the aftermath of the recent battle, when assessing the wounded on the field, determining which were in dire need and which could await the next wagon, she had not spared the enemy corpses more than a glance. Rukh she recalled from the keep, when Romana brought him in, but she had no interest in conversation with the brute and so kept her mind and her attention on the men in her care. She wasn't even _curious_.

She had no idea just how... Man-like these Uruk-hai were. Knowing now how they were made, she could _see_ small features of her people in their faces; high cheekbones, long wavy hair albeit black as night, straight and proud posture... In this one, their leader, she saw something in his eyes that... frankly made her clutch her throat nervously. She did not fear he would strike her, but... his were unsettling eyes. They seemed to see _inside_ her, and not the workings of her organs, but into the very _soul_ of her. Eadburga was not quite comfortable with such intense scrutiny, and was relieved when his gaze dropped.

More surprising to her was how his face did not look... terrifying. Scarred he was, not just his face but his entire body, no doubt received in battle against her own folk. His skin was nearly black, yet the scars were a lighter brown, drawing attention to them even more. In the center of his chest were markings cut into his flesh; two spheres set side by side.

He was not roaring or gnashing his teeth. He was not leering or even scowling. Rather, he looked a trifle stunned. The absence of those other expressions nearly made his face... somewhat... appealing, she thought uncomfortably. Eadburga did not want to even _think_ such things of those who had slain her husband so many years ago. Feeling a spark of interest from peering into the eyes of a Dunlending would have been far more acceptable.

Shaking herself, she decided Romana's sense of loyalty and devotion to these creatures must be influencing her own reactions, and pushed aside such thoughts.

* * *

Romana glanced back at the awkward pair and furrowed her brow. Something odd was going on between the two leaders, Burzash and Eadburga, but she hadn't a clue what it might be. Shrugging, she handed off breeches to each semi-lucid Uruk and winced at their automaton-like dressing, as though they only knew to put the clothing on because something in the recesses of their minds told them the use of such things.

When she got to Maukum, she just tossed a pair at his head and moved on. The surly Uruk made no effort to put them on, however. Instead, he tossed the breeches on the ground and spat on them. Folding his arms over his chest, he scanned the whiteskins balefully. He took particular note of Burzash simpering at the one in charge of the females, and a slow grin spread across his face.

Chuckling under his breath, he glared at the self-styled leader. His mind was already working on how he might pay that _pushdug_ back for ruining _everything_.

* * *

Mog was damn glad he'd been given breeches before this female approached him. He was by the sleepers, watching one of the braver women checking them over. This one came up and asked him a question, but he had no idea what the hell she said for several moments.

It was like being struck by a battering ram. One moment he was awaiting the turning of the tide, when these whiteskins would decide that Romana was utterly mad to beg help for the Uruk-hai and gut them where they stood. Or mostly lay, because the majority were now too weak to stand. But that blow never came. Instead, he was assaulted by something completely different.

He drew great breaths of her scent, filling himself with it. For some reason, he felt compelled to go down on his knees and grovel at her feet. _That_ was truly strange. Or perhaps not grovel, but definitely beg... beg her to forget what he looked like and the things his people had done.

Yes, that must be it. He'd vowed to apologize, and he would do that. Nodding with resolve, he looked her in the eyes – those arresting, earthy eyes that seared and cooled his insides at the same time – and said firmly, "I am sorry."

Startled, the woman frowned. She'd merely asked if he could show her the worst off, for the wagons were being prepared for their burden. "I... I beg your pardon?"

Taking a deep breath, Mog repeated, "I am sorry. For all... all we done here. Sorry."

"You seek... forgiveness," she said carefully. "I am not certain it will be granted."

"No, don't expect it to," he said, shaking his head. "What we done here ain't forgivable. I'm just... sorry we done it, is all."

"Why, then?" she asked, her composure beginning to crumble a touch. She'd been denied properly burying her husband after the Fords, and though their marriage was arranged and only a year old, she was still pained by the loss. "Why did you do such... terrible things?"

His face took on a bitter expression, but only for a moment, then it was replaced with a measure of defiance, perhaps a challenge. Her eyebrows rose.

"We was told to," he said quietly. "We didn't know no better. Not much of an excuse, I know, but... there it is." Taking a deep breath, he looked her in the eyes, and though his voice shook, he held himself firm. "Thank you for comin'."

The woman nodded silently. "I had no idea," she breathed, and her eyes wandered about the field. That they were still _alive_ and in such condition wrenched her heart, regardless of _what_ they were. "This is... very bad. Your folk."

"Yeah," he nodded uncomfortably. "We used to be strong." His voice choked off and he looked away. He could remember what it was like, what his _people_ were like, before... How proud they were. How strong...

"We have come to tend you," she said softly, surprised to see anything like grief in one of his kind. "All of you. Perhaps... you will be strong again."

"You make us strong," he said, a slight tremor in his voice, "and we will fight _for_ you. Not against you."

"That would be appreciated," she replied. She regarded him for a few moments, then asked, "What is your name?"

"Mog," he muttered, then chuckled. "Means 'voice.' Guess the Pitmaster was runnin' outta good ones, eh?"

She smiled a little in spite of herself. "Well, I am Elfhild. It means 'Elf battle.' I would not blame you for calling me simply Hilda; it is actually what I prefer." Glancing about, she added in a whisper, "I have many brothers and sisters. I believe my mother had run out of good names as well."

One side of Mog's mouth turned up in a grin, and his expression softened. "You're a brave one, comin' to see to us. A fightin' name suits you."

Swallowing uncomfortably, she dropped her eyes and straightened her shoulders. He seemed to understand he'd gone too far and looked away with a frown. "Could you show me the ones in the worst condition, please?" she asked stiffly, wrestling herself back to the original question.

For a moment, his eyelids were lowered rather too intimately for her comfort, and when he spoke, his voice was a quiet rumble that stirred... something. Shaking it off, she followed him to the sickest Uruk-hai littering the field.

* * *

Leofwen walked among the emaciated forms of the Uruk-hai, lying where they undoubtedly ran out of the strength needed to continue, and inside she wept. One she knelt beside to assess shook as much as a lone leaf clinging to a bare branch in the winds of a harsh winter. The dark, scarred skin seemed to have collapsed upon his bones, lacking the support of flesh beneath. What shallow breaths he labored for were ragged and seemed to rattle within him. His eyes, unlike those of the healthier ones speaking with Leofwen's fellow healers, were glassy and unseeing. Did he even know she was there, she wondered?

Her heart was moved. These were not the fierce warriors, the aggressive beasts she had been told about most of her life. They were wretched and suffering; how could her folk _not_ extend a hand to them?

The approach of one of the healthier ones startled her, and she automatically cringed from him. He smiled a little to mask obvious pain at her reaction.

"Just gettin' him covered," Mog told her as he crouched down and eased the emaciated Uruk's legs into a pair of breeches. Seeing her still looking a little nervous, he tried to grin reassuringly. "I don't bite."

An Uruk grin, Leofwen found, was not in the least reassuring. She could only stare at him wordlessly.

Muttering under his breath something about getting the others seen to, he left, and she sagged with relief. _He_ had the look of those fierce and aggresive Uruk-hai she'd heard tell of, for he bore himself straight and tall, and appeared to have not only eaten well but held it down. This one before her had clearly not. Her immediate thought might have been that the Uruk and his healthier fellows had purposely starved these spindly ones, if not for the gentleness he showed in clothing the poor wretch. He made every effort to avoid jarring the weaker one or causing additional discomfort. Watching him, she saw he used the same approach with the other downed Uruk-hai.

Leofwen realized he simply wasn't as sick as the others, and took advantage of it by giving as much aid as he could. It was an aspect of Orc-kind she had never imagined existed.

Nodding to the men as they came to carefully lift this one into the nearest wagon, she went to the ones called 'sleepers.' Though all four of them were even worse off than the one she'd just left, one of them was on the verge of death. She could see it even before she reached his side. She sank to her knees beside him, feeling helpless.

"That one's not taking any food," Romana said behind her. The woman's voice betrayed her worry, but also a grief for the spent life of this Uruk as though he were already gone from this world. "He did for a while, then..." Leofwen looked up and saw the tears forming in the woman's eyes. Standing, she reached out and gathered Romana in her arms.

"I will see to him myself," Leofwen said reassuringly. "He will not slip past me into darkness, I promise."

"Thank you," Romana said, gripping the healer tightly. "I don't even know his name. Please don't let him go without learning it."

"I shall do my very best."

Gathering herself, Romana roughly swiped her tears away and moved on. Eadburga was now directing the 'troops,' getting the soldiers who had accompanied the wagons to be more careful with her new patients as they loaded them into the wagons. Kalus was already in a wagon, his eyes closed. She wondered if he was even aware...

Wincing and biting her lip she turned to Eadburga. "Can you... do you have someone who..."

"What is it?" Eadburga asked gently when Romana faltered.

"Do any of your healers know how to deal with... suicides?" she asked in an undertone. Romana didn't claim full understanding of the people from this world, but she could imagine that suicidal people were likely more a thing to be ashamed of here than a serious medical condition requiring careful treatment. That the victim was an Orc likely wouldn't gain him even a modicum of sympathy. But she had to try.

"Who...?" Eadburga asked, her brow furrowing. Her eyes went immediately to Burzash, laboring with a huge Uruk to settle one of the sleepers in a nearby wagon.

"This one," Romana said, lightly patting Kalus's leg. He didn't respond with so much as a twitch. "His name is Kalus. He thinks... he believes the Uruk-hai are done for, so why wait for you all to kill him?" She smiled grimly, then a lump rose in her throat and her eyes welled with tears once more. "He's been starving himself," she added shakily.

"Then he... he is not so afflicted as these others?" Eadburga asked carefully. Romana shook her head.

"He was fine when we all joined up," she explained, then chuckled mirthlessly. "Except, you know, the trying to drown himself part. He probably thought... not eating was the only option, since we kept watch over him. Wouldn't let him alone long enough to stick his head in the river."

Eadburga reached out and touched Romana's arm. "I know the very one who might turn him. Sunngifu. She had a cousin who... despaired. He made frequent... attempts upon his life before... succeeding. Sunngifu harbors guilt, though unjustified, for not doing... quite... enough to save him. Perhaps... were she given a chance to aid another..."

"Is she here?" Romana asked eagerly.

"Sunni remains at the keep, preparing beds and ordering folk about as a general," Eadburga said with a smile. "When we arrive, I will ensure he is put in her care specifically."

"Thank you," Romana breathed, then sagged. "Really. For everything. I can't tell you... It means so much..."

"I understand," Eadburga said. "They are not what we expected. Not what _I_ expected." Again, her gaze drifted to Burzash, and a most unsettling feeling came over her.

* * *

"Romana master say put on," Foshân snarled at Maukum. On his way to get another Uruk for the wagon, he saw the belligerent one standing there, arms folded defiantly, disobeying an order from their new master. Bending, he picked up the breeches and thrust them into Maukum's arms, nearly toppling the Uruk with the force behind it.

"Fuck you," Maukum snarled, shoving the great _lorzal's_ arm away. Curling his lip, he noted how the breeches on the berserker were ripped in the legs to accommodate his greater musculature, and strained across the pelvis nearly to the point of being rendered useless as cover.

It was insulting. His brothers, those that might have been capable of fighting the whiteskins, were fawning and simpering like slaves already. The woman had gone to great lengths to make them aware of how undeserving they were, how pathetic and weak they were, how _desperate_ they were. Now in the presence of a small force of Rohirrim and a load of ripe females, they did _nothing_.

He snorted. Nothing except turn _grateful_ eyes to these whiteskins as though a blessing were being granted. As though they could not, in a _heartbeat_ , take all they wanted of the whiteskins and more besides.

"Put on," Foshân insisted, looming over Maukum and bumping the shorter Uruk in the face with his chest. "Put on," he repeated with a warning growl.

Sighing and making a show of his resigned cooperation, Maukum slowly... _ever_ so slowly, donned the breeches under the _lorzal's_ watchful eye. Jerking the laces tight and tying them, eyes never leaving the berserker's, Maukum wondered how he might secure a blade, even a small one, now that he had some sort of covering to conceal it.


	36. Get This Wagon Train Moving!

The third wagon held four weakened, sleeping Uruk-hai and two strong enough to sit upright with their feet dangling off the back. Both had an arm flung over the side to keep steady over the uneven ground. Neither had any idea what to expect upon arrival at Helm's Deep, though the whiteskins had shown no aggression just yet.

There was still time, Mog mused, but he felt far less conviction in the thought.

What's more, he felt no desire to see such an end. Was it Hilda allowing him so close, though she trembled at the sight of him? Perhaps her smooth pale face? She had darker hair than he'd expected. Had they not always called the Rohirrim 'yellowhairs,' and yet hers was brown? And her eyes... like earth, rich and many-colored, with browns and greens intermixed. He knew what a female hid beneath her clothing, and found himself sifting through memories of others he'd seen, trying to decide which most probably matched Hilda's form. It alarmed him to be so consumed with such thoughts, to feel his body quivering with need, his insides churning with longing...

Another moment and he'd alert his leader to what was going through his mind. This he did _not_ want. Glancing at Burzash beside him, he noted a distance in the Uruk's gaze, as though he wasn't looking at the wagon trailing behind them, but at something much further away.

"Whattayou reckon?" Mog ventured quietly.

Burzash startled and looked sharply at Mog. "About what?" he asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing.

Tilting his head, Mog examined the leader's expression. There was something familiar in it. "That one... Elfhild," Mog said.

"What about her?" Burzash growled, a warning in his eyes and voice.

Mog shifted a little. "Told her I was sorry."

Burzash seemed to sigh with relief and nodded. He returned his gaze out the back of the wagon, now watching the plains roll past beneath his feet.

"Thanked her for comin'," Mog continued, watching the larger Uruk carefully. Burzash sagged and winced.

"I didn't," Burzash muttered. "I couldn't."

"Why?" Mog pressed. "We are, ain't we? Sorry? _I_ am." _Especially now_ , he thought painfully.

"Fuckin' forgot my name," Burzash growled. "Looked at that Eadburga female... and I didn't know my fucking name."

Ashamed, he glanced at Mog, hoping not to see ridicule in the other Uruk's eyes. Though one side of Mog's mouth was turned up in a slight smile, he wasn't laughing at Burzash.

"Yeah," Mog said, nodding slowly. "Me too." They both returned their gazes out the back of the wagon, an understanding between them. "What're we gonna do?"

Burzash shook his head. "I don't know. Ain't never... felt this before. Don't know _what_ to do." Breath quickening a little in confused worry, he went on, "If I go near her, they'll fuckin' kill me. But... I gotta be. I _need_ her, Mog." He cast a desperate look at the other Uruk. He'd never felt so helpless in his life, not even standing unarmed among all these whiteskins, where one glance in the wrong direction would make him dead. This feeling was galling and humiliating and terrifying in ways nothing had ever been before.

He knew how precarious their position was now, and how incredibly unlikely it was that Eadburga might feel any sort of interest in him. Pursuing her would spell ruin for them all.

"Yeah," Mog agreed, his own thoughts filled with Hilda once more, remembering her scent and what it did to him. "Hilda... Know whatchou mean." Meeting Burzash's eyes, he whispered, "You and me do _anything,_ they'll kill us all."

"We gotta... we gotta swear," Burzash said fiercely. "Don't... just _don't_."

Mog nodded. "Yeah. I swear."

Reaching over, Burzash clasped wrists firmly with Mog. Knowing they were in it together, that no matter how hard it would be to deny what was overwhelming them, gave them the false confidence they needed to face the rest of the journey to the Deep.

"I wonder," Mog mused. "You think Rukh feels this? For Romana?"

Furrowing his brow and thinking about it for a moment, Burzash slowly nodded. "Yeah. I think he does. Better ask him about it. How he... keeps his hands to himself." He chuckled mirthlessly.

"Soon as we get a chance, ask him," Mog agreed. "So we know how to fight it, eh?" Burzash nodded, feeling somewhat relieved.

Neither had any idea how difficult that pull was going to be to resist.

* * *

Leofwen used her body to shield the pitiable Uruk from the sun's glare, though he likely hadn't seen it for many days. She had been trying for most of the journey to coax a swallow from him, to ease some water past his lips.

Seated next to the soldier driving the wagon, Eadburga looked back with concern.

"Do you think... there is hope for him?" she asked, her brow pinched with worry.

"I... I do not know," Leofwen breathed. Meeting Burga's eyes, she said, "I never imagined I would feel pity for them. But I cannot look upon them as they are and not be moved."

The head healer nodded. "I feel the same." Her eyes somehow found the back of Burzash's head two wagons away, and she swiftly turned away, returning her gaze to the front.

The sleeper in Leofwen's care barely responded to anything she did. Even so little as the barest trickle of water invoked coughing and choking, growing more feeble with each repetition. She took to massaging his throat, urging a swallow, and found that he did so, but very slowly.

Leofwen was nearly brought to tears by this Uruk's plight, yet she had only just begun.

Her hand on his neck rose to his sunken cheek, and she lightly stroked the dry, rough skin. His parched lips did not move or even twitch. The only part of him that moved at all was his chest, rising and falling with his shallow, labored breathing. The only sound he made was the rattle in his lungs with each breath.

How would she manage to get medicines into him? She bit her lip to stop its trembling. The sickness that raged through his body met no resistance; he had nothing to fight with. Tears filling her eyes, she leaned close and whispered in his ear, "I am here. I will help you, but you must try. Turn from the darkness. Please turn away, and come to me."

Excruciatingly slowly, the Uruk's head rolled toward her voice. Leofwen smiled with relief, and caressed his face. "Good. That is good. Thank you."

* * *

Rukh glared at Maukum. In the same wagon, Kalus lay in nearly the same condition as the sleepers now, which was worrisome even to Rukh. The Uruk's decline had been swift; Rukh wondered if he had suffered the same illness as the others all along, and his own loss of will made him fall prey to it at last.

Regardless, Maukum glowed with health his 'brothers' did not share, and sat straight and proud while even Burzash had shown signs of weariness when the wagons were finally loaded.

"I'll fuckin' kill you," Rukh snarled quietly, "if you do _anything_."

Maukum slowly turned to stare malevolently at Rukh. "Ain't your _place_."

"No?" Rukh growled, arching his brow. "You do not think so?"

Sneering, Maukum replied, "Your _female_ holds you back. She has you by the balls. She _commands_ you. And she will not _let_ you kill me."

Rukh was startled and failed to hide it. Did they all think this? Narrowing his eyes, he hissed, "She does not command me. Do you want me to prove it?"

"No need," Maukum smirked, looking away. "When they turn on us, and you must fight for your life, be wary. I do not forget insults."

Snorting dismissively, Rukh shook his head. "You do not know whiteskins," he said. "If they wanted us dead, we would be dead _now_ , not filling their wagons and going to their fortress."

"Time is all they need," Maukum shrugged. "They will turn. They are treacherous."

Rukh grunted and shook his head. "Dunlendings, perhaps. They could not be trusted. I would not turn my back on a Dunlending." Tilting his head to the side, he looked more closely at the other Uruk. A slow grin split his face. "I see it now. Some of us came from _these_ folk; _you_ came from Dunland. It is no wonder you are a miserable piece of shit."

Maukum glowered at the larger Uruk, seething impotently. "And you did not? How are we to know what cunt bore any of us? You do not look any different from me or this bit of filth," he snarled, gesturing toward Kalus. "Master did not tell us because it does not _matter_."

"To _you_ , it does not matter," Rukh snarled. "There is much he did not tell us that matters _now_."

"I do not give a _fuck_ for what Master did _not_ tell us," Maukum snapped. "Only for what he _did_. I _remember_ my orders. Do _you_?"

"I do not hear him," Rukh growled. "Nor do I heed him. The Voice is dead in me. I do not wish to even remember it. If you would _live_ , cast it from your memory."

"And whose voice should I heed, eh?" Maukum challenged. "Yours? Burzash's? _Romana's_? If she would wag her tongue for my benefit, let it lick my _balls..."_

Rukh's fist shot out, connecting with Maukum's nose so hard, black blood spurted in all directions. "You will do as Burzash says," Rukh hissed. "Or you will _die_."

* * *

Erkenbrand held the reins loosely in his hands, not guiding the horses pulling the wagon but rather letting them follow the lead wagon ahead. He'd been fixated on the contents of that wagon; a woman and a soldier together on the buckboard, three emaciated Uruk-hai lying side-by-side in the bed, and what appeared to be a monstrous berserker lounging near the back, gazing about the plains in smiling wonder, looking for all the world like a young boy on a sight-seeing trip.

Yet the man's thoughts were elsewhere at the moment. He could not seem to drive away the things he'd seen. He poked and prodded the visions as one would worry a toothache.

He saw his men – hardened by long years of battle against these creatures, the memories of Helm's Deep undoubtedly still fresh – carefully lifting the spindly bodies of their enemies into the wagons as though they might shatter if jostled too much.

Like his father before him, Erkenbrand was a knight of Rohan. He had served his King in one fashion or another since he was strong enough to lift a blade. He knew nothing save a warrior's life, and while his grasp of strategy and planning aided him in managing his holdings and maintaining order and security in the Westfold, he would never be happier than he was in the saddle wielding a sword against his land's foes.

Among his enemies were counted these very creatures he'd agreed to accept into his hold.

When the Uruk-hai began to appear years before, they were quickly found to be more difficult to defeat than Dunlendings who pilfered across the border but rarely appeared in force. The great Orcs of Isengard proved to be a greater threat even than the remnants of northern Orcs that settled in the White Mountains to the south. They were bigger and stronger, to be sure, but more cunning and better organized. Ruthless and focused on destruction, heedless of injury, burning and plundering all before them without remorse...

So they had appeared when he met them in battle. They did not seem so now.

Erkenbrand never imagined he would see Orcs of any breeding in this condition. Unbidden, he recalled seasoned warriors, maimed in battle yet not slain. Soldiers who had lost limbs or suffered damages that weakened their arms so they could not hold a weapon, or pained their bodies so greatly that they could no longer sit a horse. He had seen many men fade into despair long before advanced age would take them to a natural ending. They believed their use had long since ended, and they had nothing left to offer their folk but a sad remnant of lost glory, never to be regained.

He saw before him the remains of a once great warrior race, he now realized. When the fevers broke and their strength began to return, what might they feel? He had never considered _their_ side of the argument before Romana showed it to him. How might the Uruk-hai recover from such a devastating defeat that lost them not only their master but their entire way of life? For those in delirium, might they be dismayed to awaken in the hands of their enemies, too weak to defend themselves, with no where to run?

Speaking with one of the healthier ones had not entered his mind while he watched them taking such great care in dressing their comrades, lifting them from the ground, and easing them into the wagons. It was clear their gentleness was more than a fear that the emaciated Uruk-hai might break if handled roughly; the creatures knew well that pain is felt so much more by one so thin and weak. They handled their brethren with full knowledge of how easily they could hurt them, and chose _not_ to. Erkenbrand had been far too stunned by seeing anything akin to _kindness_ or _compassion_ in them to consider approaching one.

Glancing at Romana beside him, he saw tears welling in her eyes, yet she seemed to be stoically resisting them. A blink sometimes caused a drop to fall, but she hastily swiped it away. Her gaze was fixed ahead, but if she truly saw the Hornburg growing larger as they neared or not, he couldn't say.

It was clear to his eyes, at least, that she did not gloat over her victory, nor did she take any particular joy in having chided him into agreement in this enterprise. She could see as well as he that the battle to save these creatures had only just begun.

Looking ahead again, Erkenbrand's eyes fell upon the berserker, yet another mystery of these creatures that baffled him. He had seen Uruks like him scaling the battlements, first over the walls, and charging headlong into a forest of spears as though they feared nothing. There were few so ferocious as his like, bathed in blood even before engaging the Rohirrim, roaring into battle with barely a scrap of leather about their waists. The shock troops of Isengard, and one of their number among those in better health than any...

Yet he had a look of innocence about him that belied all Erkenbrand had ever seen of them. It was difficult to reconcile the hulking brutes he had faced and slain with this benign, smiling, young-seeming... He was not even sure what to call him.

Brow furrowed, he turned to Romana, for she seemed the likeliest to know the answer to this mystery. "Tell me of the large one. Why does he seem so calm? I have seen his kind slaughtering mercilessly until a surfeit of wounds brings them down. Heedless of injury and mindlessly aggressive, yet I see no signs of these things in _him_."

Romana drifted from her reverie and looked upon Foshân. A slight smile softened her features. "He's a child," she said simply.

"What do you mean?" Erkenbrand asked with a frown. "He is greater in size than a full grown Man."

"No, I mean _up here_ ," she replied, tapping her head. "He's a _child_. I don't think he's any further developed than, say, a five or six year old. Whether it was some oversight of Saruman's, or something he did intentionally, I don't know. Foshân was bred for size, I assume, but not necessarily for intelligence." She smiled ironically. "A _smart_ Uruk wouldn't charge into a bunch of spears without armor. All he got was size, strength, and the childish desire to please."

Shrugging, she continued, "I don't know how many of the berserkers are... _were_ like him. He's the only one I've actually talked to. You know, if I told him to attack your men, and kill them all, he'd do it. He'd scare the crap out of you in the process. He would do exactly what he's told because that's how he's wired. Like a _child_."

"I... find that... concerning...," Erkenbrand said hesitantly.

"I've told him not to fight," Romana assured him. "He has assumed that means _none_ of them are allowed to fight. He's stepped in and broken up a couple of fights between Burzash and Maukum."

"Which ones are they?"

"Burzash is the one who's kind of their leader," Romana explained, then shook her head. "No, not 'kind of'; he _is_ their leader. Even Rukh recognizes that. Maukum is the surly lump of shit in the wagon with Rukh. They have been fighting for dominance over this group since the beginning. Mostly posturing, but once in awhile it's come to blows."

She took a deep breath and fixed Erkenbrand with a steady eye. "Just a warning. Burzash is the better leader, by far. Maukum would rather everything went back to the way it was when Saruman was in power. He wants to always be at war, to take what he wants, to destroy everything in his path. We're keeping an eye on him because _nobody_ wants that. Burzash recognizes that any aggression from any one of them at this point is going to doom them all. I just want you to know that Maukum is _alone_ in his attitude. _None_ of the others will follow his lead. So if he does something completely stupid, please don't punish the rest of them."

"If any of my folk suffer for the decision I have made...," Erkenbrand growled.

"Then punish the one who _did it_ , not all of them," Romana interrupted sternly. "Try to be fair, Erkenbrand, _please_. These guys have been through the mill. _I know_ , they've put your people through hell too. But they _didn't know_. Now, _they do_. If _one_ of them steps over the line, I won't stop you from taking down _that one_. But I _will_ stand in the way if you go after the rest of them."


	37. Sunni, My Life Was Filled With Pain

The great hall of the Hornburg was bustling with activity as Sunngifu oversaw the preparations for the unprecendented arrival of Uruk-hai in their midst. She did not allow herself to think about anything but that these were sick and malnourished men; she had been told what the symptoms were, what Burga's suspicions of their ailment might be, and so concentrated on assembling the necessary items for treating them.

Well-padded yet soft pallets were laid out in four rows of five each, close to the end of the hall where the great hearth could warm them. Even now, stableboys were gathering wood from the hills behind the keep to maintain a hearty blaze. The hall would be nearly stifling in a matter of hours. She'd employed several novice healers in gathering raspberry and mint leaves to treat the diarrhea and vomiting; they had to range far at this time of year to find the young plants and carefully harvest only a few leaves from each. Sunni worried that if they did not keep up the gathering even after the Uruks arrived, there would never be enough.

Beside each pallet she ordered two buckets: one empty, and one filled with clean water. Rolls of bandages left over from the battle were gathered in a large box; another held squares of cloth for cleaning. The bakers were hard at work baking loaf after loaf in the large ovens, for queasy stomachs should not have been forced to battle raw meat no matter how desperately the nourishment was needed.

Sunni bit her lip and tried not to think about what they were.

Extra blankets were neatly stacked in a corner; each pallet had been prepared with two set at their foot, ready to be pulled over the bodies of the Uruks once they were settled. A general request for shirts and trousers had been issued, and folk had brought their discarded clothing by the keep. Sunni had a pair of elderly ladies sorting through them, arranging them by size. They did not know how big the Uruks would be, only that they might go through several before their bowels were brought under control.

Taking a deep breath, she surveyed the hall. Now that the supplies had been put in place, she assessed the young women who would be placed in charge of these creatures. Many were visibly nervous, their eyes darting to the doors at the slightest sounds from outside. A few of Sunni's own apprentices had barely survived raids, and so had been courteously dismissed from this duty. Sunni had refused the option herself, though it hadn't been offered. She had too much experience to be done without, she knew.

Burga only insisted that for each Uruk, there should be one healer. Beyond that, others were to be employed in such activities as replenishing supplies, emptying buckets, and fetching food. Sunni knew she would be assigned to one, and every time she thought of it, she had to close her eyes and hold her breath for a moment, then let it out slowly.

 _You are strong enough_ , she thought firmly.

She was just reminding herself not to think about it when a messenger from the gates burst into the hall with an announcement that alarmed and chilled her heart: they were coming.

It took a monumental effort to swallow, but she managed it after a moment. Lifting her chin with dignity and grace, Sunni followed the young man down to the gates.

"You are certainly a brave lot, ma'am," the messenger commented as they left the shaded interior of the keep and walked out into the bright sunshine. "A load of beasts that oughta be kept in the dungeon, not coddled and whatnot. Can't imagine what his Lordship was thinking."

"Their representative was most persuasive, I heard," Sunni replied.

The man snorted. "Likely told the kind of lie my da would tan my hide over," he grumbled.

When they reached the wide open gates, they halted and gazed down the ramp at the five wagons making their slow, careful way up the ramp. Along the Deeping Wall, Sunni noticed, there were many Dunlending men still hard at work, laboring to repair the breach and other damages sustained during the battle. This was their penance for taking up arms for Saruman's cause. Sunni knew of a few women whose shame was not inflicted by Uruk raiders but men like _them_ , and she felt no sympathy for what they must feel, trading their swords for mallets and chisels.

Shading her eyes, she looked upon the wagons and frowned. Only a bare handful of the Uruks were even sitting up; all the rest were dark, immobile forms lying side by side in the beds of each wagon. At least a few of the healers who had accompanied Burga were sitting in amongst them. Sunni found this to be... unexpected.

Her brow was still furrowed with curiosity when the first wagon, driven by a Rider and bearing Burga on the seat next to him, drove through the gate. Sunni trotted alongside for a few paces before Burga leaned down and gave her a hand up. The lead healer made room for Sunni on the bench.

"Is all in readiness?" Burga asked, though she knew the answer.

"Yes, quite," Sunni replied, glancing over her shoulder. Leofwen was leaning over a seemingly dead Uruk, murmuring quietly to him and carefully easing water between his lips while massaging his throat. The other two Uruks beside them just stared upward unseeing with half-closed, glassy eyes. All three of them had sunken cheeks and prominently exposed ribs, most particularly the one whom Leofwen was tending.

This was nothing like what Sunni had expected. Romana hadn't lied.

"Are they _all_ like this?" she whispered to Burga, and the healer shook her head.

"Most, but not all," she replied. "There are a few who are in far better health. They have shown... quite surprising tenderness toward their suffering brethren. I daresay, it is an eye-opener."

Furrowing her brow, Sunni said, "Truly? Tenderness, you say? I find that difficult to imagine."

"As did I, until I saw them," Burga said. Turning to Sunni, she searched the younger woman's eyes. "I have a special favor to ask of you, dear," she said seriously, "though I know it will not be easy for you. Heric's passing weighs heavily on your mind still, does it not?"

Stiffening, Sunni tore her gaze away and stared straight ahead. It took her several moments to reply in a strained voice. "Yes. It does."

Burga gently laid a hand on Sunni's, clasped tightly in her lap. "I beg your pardon for this. It is my hope that you might find healing for his loss... if given the opportunity to aid another. There is one among the Uruks who... despairs. Romana, their friend, has begged special attention for him. I immediately thought of you."

"You ask much," Sunni replied in a hoarse whisper.

"I know," Burga confessed. "He is not a Man, nor is he bound to you by blood as your cousin was. You told me you wished you could have done... _something_ different. I have never thought there was; you did all you could and more. I believe you learned a valuable lesson from the experience; you learned the value of living. This Kalus is not beyond reach. Perhaps this is a lesson you might teach him?"

Sunni bowed her head as the wagons drew up to the steps leading to the great hall. The litter bearers she'd conscripted were already standing by, awaiting their orders.

It was a difficult proposition, but not one without worth. Though Sunni could not imagine an Uruk even remotely as sorrowful as her cousin had been, she felt duty-bound to do what she could. She'd failed Heric, in spite of what Burga said. She did not want to fail again, even with regards to one of _them_.

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Sunni met Burga's anxious gaze. "Yes. I will... teach him."

* * *

Sunni was kept busy as the limp bodies were brought in. She could not bring herself to converse with the healthy ones; she left that duty to Eadburga. Instead, she flitted about, urging care in the handling of such spindly bodies.

It was a wonder they had the strength to breathe, she marveled. Never had she seen anyone in such a pitiable state. Several were no sooner laid to rest upon their pallets when even the most careful treatment made them vomit. One she witnessed do so was wracked from head to toe in shuddering convulsions by the force of it, then lay in a trembling ball, his breath hitching as though he might weep. The young woman at his side stoically cleaned him up, urged him to drink some water, and bathed his sweating face.

Though the Uruk did _not_ weep, the novice healer tending him very nearly did.

Tearing herself away, Sunni went in search of Burga, finding her in conversation with one of the taller of the well-off Uruks. He kept his head bowed throughout their discussion, a scowl on his face and his fists clenched as though he might strike her given half a chance and fewer witnesses. Sunni was rather taken aback by his tension and apparent hostility.

"I beg pardon," she said carefully, her eyes darting back and forth between them. Burga turned to Sunni with a nervous expression.

"Yes, Sunni," she said with relief. "I would like you to meet Burzash. He is their leader."

Sunni forced herself to look this one in the eye, somehow managing to stifle the sharp gasp that looking into such eyes inspired. His were painfully alert, as though he rarely blinked for fear of missing something in that split second that might threaten him. The yellow color seemed almost other-worldly in its intensity. She swallowed hard and nodded acknowledgement of Burga's introduction. He nodded once in return.

"Are you able to see to Kalus now?" Burga asked respectfully.

"Yes," Sunni replied. "I am ready."

"If you will excuse us," Burga said awkwardly to the twitching Uruk, and the two women left him there fidgeting. Once out of earshot, Burga released a relieved sigh. "That one baffles me."

"He seems quite agitated, though I suppose that is to be expected," Sunni offered.

"I have been nothing but polite, and yet his bearing and manner are so disagreeable," the lead healer lamented. "He barely speaks, will _not_ look me in the eye, and clenches his fists so tightly I feel that he imagines my neck within his grasp." She rubbed her throat nervously.

"At least he is wise enough to restrain himself here," Sunni replied, then added crossly, "He should show more gratitude, or at least..."

"No, dear, I think... I think it is pride that afflicts him," Burga reasoned. "They are dependent upon those they called enemy only a handful of days past; it must rankle him terribly. That he _can_ restrain himself for the good of his fellows is admirable, really."

Sunni frowned and cast a sidelong look at her superior, unsure what to make of the woman's words and tone.

"He is just here," Burga pointed, leading Sunni over to the pallet on the end of the second row. A healer was there already, covering him with a blanket and preparing to bathe his face with cool water. The Uruk didn't appear to be responding to anything. "Thank you, Edda. Sunni will see to him from now on." The woman nodded and departed.

Sunni looked down at Kalus's face and her brow creased. She slowly sank to her knees beside him.

"Romana says he tried to drown himself," Burga was saying, but Sunni barely heard her words.

Even in repose, a hauntingly familiar despair was etched upon his face, and Sunni's throat closed with recognition. Beyond that, as she had barely noted in Burzash but was now fully attentive of in Kalus, his face bore such similarity to Men she wanted to recoil with revulsion, for it was an obscene likeness. The bone structure of a Man of Rohan lurked beneath the rough, mottled, and scarred flesh of an Orc. His thin, dry lips were slightly parted, and she could see the jagged teeth of a predator within his mouth. Thinning hair revealed most un-Manlike ears, sharply pointed. One was marred, as though bitten by an animal with sharp teeth.

"Sunni?"

Shaking herself, she looked up at Burga's concerned face. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Sunni nodded. "I am fine. I can manage things from here. Thank you, Burga."

"If you need anything," Burga offered as she turned away, "call for me."

Sunni watched her retreating leader for a moment, then returned her attention to Kalus. Taking a rag from the stack, she soaked it in the water bucket and, swallowing hard, drew it gently across his forehead. His shallow, steady breathing startled for a moment, yet he did not waken.

When she had bathed his bare chest, covered with scars she did not want to know the origins of, and returned to his face, he slowly stirred, as though drifting awake after a long, deep sleep. His eyes slowly opened, the color dulled to a pale yellow that, compared to Burzash's intense citrine hue, seemed almost lifeless.

Though without fire, they did not lack warmth as he looked up at her. His face relaxed further, and great relief softened his features. She found herself returning the slight smile that twitched his lips.

"This what... death is... for Orcs, then?" he rasped hoarsely. His throat was dry, and it was difficult for him to speak above a whisper. "Don't know... why... they tried to... keep me from it."

Her smile faded. "You are not dead, Kalus."

His expression changed, and he slowly turned his head, his eyes taking in the stone walls and floors of the keep, the great hearth and the torches in their sconces on each pillar within the hall. She watched his face contort with despair, crumbling before her eyes as would a mountain toppling in upon itself over the course of ages. He did not look at her again; he squeezed his eyes shut, clearly devastated to have opened them upon another day of living when he must have hoped there would be no more.

Sunni realized she could not muster the will to hate this Uruk. The loathing she'd never had any difficulty feeling just wasn't there. She felt only the need to heal him, not gloat over his misfortune. It was not so long ago that she would have done the latter, yet she felt a strong urge now toward the former.

"There now, Kalus," she said softly, and his ear flicked at the sound of his name. "I am Sunngifu. You may call me Sunni. I am sure we shall be friends. Won't you have a sip of water? You are surely parched."

His cheek twitched, yet his eyes did not open. He only turned his face further away.


	38. The Snake in the Hall

Leaning against the wall out of everyone's way, Romana watched the litter bearers settle the Uruk-hai on their pallets as carefully as they could. Even those in the keep seemed affected by the condition of these once-fearsome warriors, and handled them gently. It brought relieved tears to her eyes, seeing the care being taken, for she was exhausted. Only now that they were in the hands of skilled healers did she acknowledge _how_ weary she was.

Yet she could only lean on Rukh beside her for a moment, a blessed few seconds of sorely needed contact, before resuming her aloof stance apart from him. This was going to be a nightmare, when they had so recently resolved their differences. Romana realized that one of the things she'd looked forward to in returning to the keep was sharing a real, honest-to-god _bed_ with Rukh. Not lying on the flat ground surrounded by dying Orcs, or even alone with the real possibility of a wandering predator barging in on the proceedings, but a room with a bed and maybe a window to let in a light breeze now and then...

Who was she kidding? She couldn't even _hug_ him in front of these people. A hand of mercy extended to an emaciated, suffering Orc was one thing; sharing a bed with one was entirely different. She felt fairly confident that even the suggestion of affection between them would change everything, and not for _anyone's_ benefit.

So she kept her distance, and tried not to think about it. Something _else_ she was kidding herself about.

What she _could_ focus on was the women leaning over the Uruks, bathing their faces, helping them to drink, _talking_ to them. Romana honestly hadn't expected the talking. It was all in low, soft voices so she wasn't always sure what was being said, but she could tell by the looks on the few cognizant Uruks' faces that it wasn't accusatory or malicious. They were being soothed and calmed, urged to drink and eat, reassured that the herbal tea would ease the pain and discomfort.

Then she began to see the touching, and a tear _did_ slide down her cheek and her lip quivered. It started with Leofwen, she realized. The healer was at the weakest sleeper's side and coaxing drop after drop of water into his mouth. Her hand never left his face and neck. When she wasn't gently persuading his slow swallows, she was smoothing his brow or stroking his cheek. Though he likely was unaware of her efforts, she whispered to him constantly. As though Leofwen's actions gave permission, a few other healers followed suit with the least conscious of the Uruks. A light touch here and there grew bolder, and the semi-lucid recipients responded by pressing their cheeks into those tender hands.

Romana had to turn away lest she break down completely.

"Are you all right?" Rukh asked in an undertone, glancing at her.

"They're going to be okay," she breathed, mastering herself. "I really think they are."

Still uncertain of their fate, Rukh merely slipped his arm briefly around her waist when he was sure no one was looking and squeezed, then retreated just as quickly. His gaze scanned the room, taking in the sight of his once strong and proud folk, at the mercy of their enemies. Had they done right, bringing them here? He worried that those who hadn't had a choice, the ones who 'slept' and knew nothing: what would _they_ say to this? What about the ones who _hadn't_ succumbed yet to the sleep without waking, those who barely understood, the ones who followed out of habit, their wills unreachable in their delirium? What answers would he give them?

The worry was too uncomfortable to contemplate.

* * *

The fourth row, farthest from the hearth, was empty but for Mog, sitting cross-legged and brooding, his back to the others. He shivered sometimes, and twitched; he knew exactly how far to one side or another he needed to turn to see Hilda as she went about her duties. She had one of the Uruks who wasn't so bad off as the others; if he glanced back, he was fairly certain he'd see Fulgirgûg _looking_ at her.

He often had a scowl on his face, but now it was almost painfully deep. What if Fulgirgûg had the same gnawing desire? What if he _touched_ her?

Swallowing hard, he clenched his fists and tried to steady himself. There were too many soldiers around; Fulgirgûg wasn't so stupid as that. The more worrisome question was whether _Mog_ was that stupid. He had no idea.

This... _thing_ that happened to him... it was worse than the control their Master had over them. While he didn't hear a Voice commanding him, and his own will was not so difficult to find now, this was a _pleasant_ possession of it. There was a strange rightness to it, as though he'd been claimed by something so like himself that resistance was foolish. He felt _owned_ , but not quite in the same way his Master owned him. That was body and mind; this was deeper than that, but he couldn't define it in words.

He _had_ to fight it, no matter how right it seemed. Mog knew it could only be right to _him_ , and would never be seen that way by _her_.

Burzash's thudding collapse on the pallet next to him shook Mog from his thoughts. The leader sat facing the sick ones, his eyes darting about warily.

"Somethin' wrong?" Mog asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Aye," Burzash replied. "Look at Maukum, that fuck."

Mog bristled. "Where's he at?"

Jerking his chin, Burzash growled, "By the fire. Watchin'. Said some shit to me a bit ago."

"What'd he say?"

"Told me... I gotta sleep some time." Meeting Mog's eyes, he bared his teeth, and the Uruk saw just how angry Burzash was. "He was lookin' at _Burga_. _Lookin'_ at her."

"He wouldn't," Mog snarled, though he knew the fuckwit _would_. In a heartbeat, the rest of them be damned. "Fuck. What're you gonna do?"

Burzash shook his head in frustration. "What _can_ I do? We're _here_ now. I don't know what the fuckin' rules are. Where we stand, what they'd do if I did what needs to be done." Growling low, he added, "Gotta let her know somehow."

"Better do it quick," Mog advised, and found himself turning to look over his shoulder at Hilda. If that bastard so much as _threatened_ to lay a hand on her, he'd... fuck, what _would_ he do? What _could_ he do? He met Burzash's gaze; neither of them knew the answer.

Pricking his ears, Burzash straightened and looked across the great hall. His eyes found the source of the scent he'd memorized without realizing he'd done it, and he rose hurriedly. Swallowing his discomfort and self-doubt, he strode purposefully to Burga.

"Gotta talk to you," he growled, managing to avoid looking in her eyes. He'd found a deep pool in them that snared him and made him forget what he was about; now was not the time for that sort of shit.

Startled by his abrupt manner, Burga followed him to the corridor that ran alongside the great hall. She'd shown him this place earlier, as well as the storerooms and necessary. Few people who were not engaged with the Uruk-hai were in this part of the keep; at the moment, the hall was deserted. Hiding her nervousness, she put on a brave face and wondered what he wanted to talk about, when he usually only grunted single word responses to her questions.

Glancing up and down the hall, he said in an undertone, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, "Keep a weapon on you. A blade, preferably. Anything. Probably a good idea for the rest of your females, too."

"I beg your pardon?" she gasped.

"Maukum's a piece of shit," he snarled bluntly, glancing up to meet her eyes. "He can't be trusted. Don't believe anything that comes outta his mouth. Don't let him near you, don't go nowhere alone with him."

"Are you saying...," she breathed, clutching her throat.

"Aye, that's what I'm saying," he nodded.

Swallowing her anxiety at his warning, she forced herself to ask, "Why are you telling me this? He is one of your own."

Hard as he clenched his fists and grit his teeth, he couldn't hold it in. She'd asked a question, she was owed an answer. Even if the answer was not the sort of thing he would tell any of his own kind because it was humiliating and painful to admit.

Whatever had gone wrong when he saw her that morning seemed to want his belly exposed on top of everything else the cursed thing had done to him. Grimacing, he replied, "He lays a hand on _any_ of you, the lot of us are dead. I don't think I can kill him. I'm not strong enough yet. If I fight him, I'll probably lose. If I lose, it'll be the end of us all."

Burga blinked at him, thoroughly stunned. "I do not understand," she said carefully. "Have you spoken with Erkenbrand? Surely there is some other recourse than... _killing_." _And surely not all of you would be punished for the deeds of one_... But she knew he was right. There was too much distrust; not enough of it had been laid aside to allow for this enterprise. Erkenbrand _would_ likely make them all pay if even one showed aggression, and all would consider him justified. Yet for Burga, the thought of such unfair treatment was surprisingly distasteful.

He lifted his chin defiantly and met her eyes. "What sort of 'recourse'? You don't know Maukum. He ain't the type to learn a lesson unless it's well-taught."

She shook her head in denial. "That is not 'teaching a lesson,' what you propose," she said. "That is ending a life."

Smirking, he growled, "Lesson learned."

"I am sorry, but I disagree," she said firmly. "He has committed no wrong..."

Ducking his head so he would not have to look in her eyes, he snarled heatedly, "You wanna wait til he does? I _know_ what he's about. Don't have to see blood on his hands first. Don't... _wanna_ see it." He struggled to steady himself. The vision of Burga laid out, torn to pieces by Maukum's misdirected wrath, nearly sent Burzash after him right then.

"It is not how we do things here," she hissed, beginning to grow angry herself. "We offer you... _all_ of you, a chance to prove yourselves. Do you deny him the same?"

Burzash leaned close, his glittering yellow eyes intent and furious. "Maukum is a stupid piece of _shit_ ," he snarled.

"Your personal grudge against him is no excuse...," she retorted, and he nearly exploded.

"He'll make _you_ pay for it!" he barked. Shaking hard all over, Burzash forced himself to step back. He grabbed the doorframe of the storeroom next to where they stood and dug his claws into the wood.

Eadburga stared at him in shock. Her hand flew to her throat. It occurred to her how... out of place it seemed simply to be having a _conversation_ with an Orc, much less receiving a warning to protect herself from one of them _by_ an Orc. Gathering her wits about her, she said carefully, "You are saying... that he will do harm... to _me_... in order to hurt _you_."

Without turning to look at her, Burzash nodded.

"I see," she whispered. "Yet... by doing so... would he not condemn himself as well?"

"He don't fuckin' care," Burzash growled low. "Find his own way out, I expect. Leave a mess behind when he runs. Should've... should've killed'im when I had the chance." Snarling, he pounded his fist against the wall. "Fucking Foshân."

"You should not... Burzash, _please_ ," she urged worriedly. "I will speak with Lord Erkenbrand. Perhaps... additional guards..." Gesturing helplessly, for his concern put fear in her heart, she added, "We will take your advice, and carry knives."

Closing his eyes with relief, he nodded and let go of the frame. He only allowed himself a glance at her eyes, and felt reassured that she was wary. _Good_ , he thought. _Don't drop your guard. Around him... or me._

"I still do not feel comfortable with the idea of killing someone who has done nothing," she began, shaking her head, and he flared up again.

"We are _Orcs_ , and that is our way. If you don't like it, we'll leave." Yet he couldn't hold onto his rage for very long. His shoulders sagged, and his anger drained. "If we're allowed to," he muttered.

The tone of Burzash's voice furrowed Burga's brow. "What do you mean, if you are _allowed_ to?"

Glancing at her face, he said, "We came here knowin' we'd never leave. Prisoners, now. There's no goin' back."

"Who has told you you are prisoners?" she asked with surprise.

He gave her an odd look. "We are your _enemies_ ," he pointed out. "You will never let us be your friends. What else _would_ we be? Prisoners... or slaves."

"No one has said anything about you and your folk being held as prisoners," she said incredulously. She was shocked that he would even think it. "And for Béma's sake, especially not as _slaves_." Frowning, she looked at him askance. "Has Erkenbrand said such a thing to you?"

"He ain't said a word to me," Burzash growled. As she seemed to be about to say something indignant, he held up a hand to stop her. "It don't matter. We're alive. Maybe... we'll stay that way for awhile longer yet."

Looking at his resignedly determined face, she softened. "You are quite loyal to them."

"That I am," he nodded. Swallowing hard, he added, "We're the last. Won't be no more of us."

Burga barely restrained the urge to touch his arm in sympathy, as she might do with a Man who grieved as Burzash evidently did. If this group was the last of his people... she'd seen no females among them. Had the wizard's foul efforts only produced males in that tower? She did not feel quite ready to ask such a question of him yet. What she _could_ do was reassure him, if only a small amount.

"Speak with Erkenbrand," she advised firmly. "He said nothing of shackling you or your folk. He increased the guard here in the keep, but that is all. Perhaps he does not... well, _quite_ trust you, but such measures could be as much for _your_ protection as ours."

"Protection from what?" Burzash asked, frowning.

"The men that remain," she said. "There are yet a few companies in residence for defense. The majority have marched to Gondor at the King's command." Suddenly uncomfortable, she bowed her head. "Forgive me... I suppose... we _are_ enemies, to a degree. My folk... march against yours."

He chuckled low, with little humor. "Don't blame you for it. Isengarders... don't get on well with them Mordor rats. If we didn't have our Master keeping us in check, we'd've been at their throats and they at ours all the time."

Tilting her head curiously, she found herself smiling. "Forgive me. I suppose I never considered... You open my eyes to a great many things, Burzash."

His heart clenched at the sound of his name on her lips. He almost let his eyes close to bask in it. "Like what?"

"You seem... very like Men in many ways," she said, then clarified as he bristled slightly, "in the sense that you look out for your own. Your fellows. Though they are weak and ill, you do not discard them. You could have left them behind and sought your own refuge far from Men. Yet you agreed to bring them here." She smiled slightly at his surprised expression. "Yes, I know Romana talked you into it. I also know that you do not avert your eyes from your fellows, regardless that they are in a most pitiable state. I have watched you. Though I am certain their plight saddens you, you do not turn away from them. I confess, I never imagined one of your kind would possess such... caring." Her smile broadened as he grunted and shrugged as though her words were of little import, yet there was a hint of pride in his bearing nonetheless. "You have taken a great risk to help them. I know coming to this place must have been... a hardship for you."

He nodded. "It was. Can't tell you how hard." He looked away, and once more felt the need to clench his fists to keep his hands down. His entire body tensed; her soft voice was like a slow-working poison... but a poison he would gladly die from.

"I am glad you came to me, Burzash," she said, noting with amusement how his ear flicked horselike when she said his name. "I will let the ladies know of... Maukum. He is the cross one, isn't he?"

"Aye," the Uruk nodded. "I'll, uh... talk to Erkenbrand. When I think I can take it." A rueful half smile turned up one corner of his mouth. "Not so sure about today, but maybe tomorrow."

Again, Burga was assailed with the need to comfort him, lend him strength. It was a most unsettling feeling. Should she not remember her husband, slain by the Uruk-hai five years ago? Why was she even _speaking_ to this one? And why was she feeling something other than revulsion and hate, something akin to admiration? Shaking herself from her troubling thoughts, she nodded encouragingly, "Tomorrow, then."

* * *

When things were settling in and the hustle and bustle of assigning healers and acquainting them with the particular needs of their charges had diminished, Rukh joined Mog, Burzash and Foshân in the fourth row. The earlier worry Romana shared with him, that they could not so much as hold hands where others could see, was temporarily relieved by the private room she'd been given. Yet they could not immediately take advantage; there were too many servants and guardsmen roaming about, going in and out of the room, fluffing pillows and laying out clothing. Even the possibility of a late night visit did not seem likely to occur; there were too many guardsmen on watch who would undoubtedly question his wanderings beyond the great hall.

Now he sat between Mog and Burzash and fumed silently. Foshân sat up and entertained himself watching the people and looking at all the wondrous features of the stonework and woodwork. He would likely be engrossed for hours. Rukh shook his head, and wished his thoughts were as simple.

"Rukh," Mog said in a low voice, "gotta ask you somethin'."

To Rukh's surprise, Burzash huddled closer so not to miss anything. He felt quite surrounded and it was a bit intimidating.

Mog and Burzash exchanged a look, and Burzash nodded, encouraging the other to speak. Mog took a deep breath and blurted out, "How d'you fight it, eh? When you wanna mate and she don't?"

Rukh stared at Mog. He certainly hadn't expected _that_ sort of question. "Why are you asking?" he said, narrowing his eyes.

Again, the other two Uruks shared a look and nodded agreement. This time, Burzash spoke. "Somethin'... happened to us. Don't know what, but... I took one look at that Eadburga female, and..."

"I looked at Hilda," Mog interjected.

"...And we were both..."

"Fucked."

"Yeah," Burzash finished. "Fucked."

"I don't know what you mean," Rukh said slowly, looking from one to the other. "Fucked in what way?"

"I _want_ her," Burzash hissed, his brow creased desperately. "For a mate. When I'm near her, I can't think about nothin' but... It ain't like... I mean, I wanna mate with her, real bad, but... that ain't _all_..."

"Aye," Mog agreed. "Feels like... it ain't a _wantin'_ but a _needin'_. Like if I ain't by her, it'll be _bad._ Feels like she owns me or somethin'."

"You... you don't know what the fuck we're talkin' about, do you?" Burzash said quietly.

"No, I _do_ ," Rukh said, shaking himself. What they were saying was so familiar... "Guess I never thought about it." Then he frowned. "You're saying this happened... when you _looked_ at them?"

"Aye," Burzash nodded. "Quick as that," he added, snapping his fingers. Mog nodded in agreement.

Rukh furrowed his brow, thinking. "Wasn't that way for me. First time I saw her, I wanted to kill her. She cut me open in that battle; I remembered her." A brief chuckle eased the growing tension from that memory. "She bandaged the wounds she gave me. She was told to kill any Orcs she found, and she healed me instead."

"Then it happened?" Mog asked, and Rukh shook his head.

"I have no idea when," he insisted. "It took awhile. But... it feels the same for me."

"Right," Burzash nodded. "Then you know how to fight it. Whattawe gotta do?"

Shrugging helplessly, Rukh said, "I don't know. I've not _had_ to. Until now." Bowing his head, he growled, "Can't go near her here. Can't even _touch_ her. This isn't even like when she was angry with me; she still let me be near enough to touch, but I couldn't do anything else." Huffing with frustration, he growled, "It wasn't even something she _said_. It was the way she looked, the way she smelled, the way she moved... I knew she would not welcome me, and so I did not go near her. I took no for an answer, and I received it a lot," he chuckled.

"I do not know what to tell you," Rukh concluded, his eyes flicking from Mog to Burzash. "It seems we will be in the same straits, though. I want her; I want to _be_ with her. But I can't. I just _can't_."

Mog grunted bitterly. "At least you've been with her." Growling low in his throat, he snarled, "Why do I want this so badly? Is that _all_ I want? I don't know nothin' about her; she could be a right bitch."

"I don't think that matters," Burzash said quietly.

"Course it matters," Mog snapped impatiently. "Why the fuck would I want a mate that don't give me no peace?"

"No, I mean these females ain't gonna want us," Burzash clarified. " _Look_ at us. Look at what we are, what we've done. They won't want us. Don't matter if they're bitches; don't matter if they're nice... or kind... or... _fuck_." Dropping his head in his hands, he gripped his hair in both fists. "I wish she was a bitch. Then maybe I could... look the other way. But she's... somethin'... She looks me in the eye. Brave one. And strong. And will someone just fuckin' kill me now?"

Seeing his leader's distress, Mog's brow furrowed with surprise and fear. "I gotta stay the fuck away from Hilda. _She's_ like that." His eyes darted from one to the other. "What am I gonna do?" he pleaded desperately.

Both Uruks looked at Rukh as though he possessed the wisdom to get them out of this mess. "I don't know. I think we're _all_ fucked. You worse than me. At least, when we leave this place, Romana and I can be together... maybe." Uncertainty washed over Rukh for the first time. Thinking out loud, he mumbled, "She'll want to be among her own. That means... we _can't_ be together."

A haunted look came over Rukh's face. He'd truly never thought about what the future might hold for them. What would happen? Where could they go and be together? These folk here... they would never accept what he and Romana were to each other. There was no place among Men they could live; they would have to go into hiding out in the wilds. How would they survive?

Sagging under the weight of such a grave realization, Rukh looked from one Uruk to the other. "I suppose we are in the same place, all three of us. I've got no answers. Just... don't fuck us all. We three have to try _hard_ not to fuck us all."

Mog's eyes darted of their own accord to the third row where Hilda had risen and gone to the table where stacks of linen scraps were laid out. She picked up a handful and headed back to her charge. For a brief moment, her eyes found Mog's and she smiled a little before turning her attention back to Fulgirgûg.

He tore his eyes away from her and tried to catch his breath. "I wanna mate," he growled. "Fuckin' hard as a rock. What am I gonna do?"

Rukh struggled to keep a straight face. "Still got your hand; _that_ ain't leavin' you."

Chuckling, Mog asked, "Where'm I gonna go for _that_?"

Burzash's attention had wandered. Burga, he could see, was moving about the other healers, whispering discreetly in their ears. By at least a few expressions, he had a fair guess of what she was telling them. His eyes scanned the room briefly, finally locating Maukum again. This time the _pushdug_ was staring malevolently at the one who tended Kalus. Burzash narrowed his eyes suspiciously, then turned to the others.

"There's a couple of storerooms in the corridor," he suggested.

"Is there?" Mog replied, raising his eyebrows with interest.

"Aye," Burzash nodded. "Burga showed them to me. Supplies and whatnot. They got doors."

Now Mog was thoroughly engaged.

"We'll have to be quiet about it," Rukh warned. "Make any noise and someone'll come and check. And you better clean up after."

As Mog and Rukh discussed how they would utilize the storerooms and when, Burzash's gaze returned to Maukum. He did not like the look on Maukum's face, and particularly didn't like the fact that the _pushdug_ 's attention was so intently focused on the healer with Kalus.


	39. From All Corners of the Keep

Eadburga found herself pacing her room, avoiding the hall and its new residents, wringing her hands. It was not worry over the Orc's warning so much as his delivery of it. And her own reactions to him.

What madness had afflicted her? It could not be pity masked by affection, for Burzash was in anything but a pitiable state. He was robust and strong; though perhaps thinner than he ought to be, still clearly well-proportioned.

 _Béma, lend me strength_ , she prayed fervently. _He is not **so** like a Man that you should lose your wits_.

She tried to cling to his coarse manners and rough speech as examples of how un-Manlike he was. She reminded herself that, until he spoke with her just an hour past, he gave the impression of one who is in the presence of a hated enemy and only self-preservation restrained him from acting out his vengeance upon her.

Then he passed more words with her in a single conversation than he'd spoken since she met him on the plains, and though he often reverted to the fist clenching and scowling coupled with an apparent aversion to looking her in the eyes, he expressed what she could only assume was... some sort of _concern_ for her well-being.

Was it simply to protect the interests of his own folk that he warned her of his fellow's intentions? Yes, that must be it. He did not want any of them harmed for that reason alone. She spoke with Erkenbrand; while he'd been counseled by Romana to show mercy to the rest should one step out of line, she could see he was not entirely in favor of doing so.

It also stood to reason that this... Maukum would target _her_ if he had a particular dislike of Burzash. She was, after all, in frequent contact with the leader throughout the day, ensuring that the appropriate food was provided, the particular needs of each Uruk were accommodated, sleeping arrangements were made for the healthier ones...

Burga could even excuse his apparent agitation over the idea that she might come to harm. He worried for the fate of his folk. If she were harmed, he must fear that punishment would be severe and encompass them all. It could have nothing to do with a softer feeling. Nothing whatever.

As she opened the door to her room, intent on going back to her duties, she paused to worry her lip. He had laughed a little, and a slight smile softened his features for a moment. Recalling that brief instant where he seemed to yield, she did not like the assessment she'd made, and felt terribly uncomfortable that she didn't.

* * *

Staring across the hall, narrowed eyes scanning the heaps of bones and flesh that were once his brothers in arms, Maukum curled his lip in disgust. Had they come here in their glory, there would be none of this fawning over their still forms, gloating at their pathetic state. The females would be screaming and running for cover, _as it should be_. The males would be meeting them on the field of battle, _also_ as it should be.

He'd thought his blood sang for vengeance when he looked upon that female Burzash seemed so fucked in the head over. Maybe _she_ couldn't smell it on him, but Maukum could. The _pushdug_ fool was giving off a stink of lust that caught and focused Maukum's attention. He knew if he damaged _her_ , Burzash would be wrathful. Very little would be needed to stir the whiteskins against them, _then_ Burzash would see that Maukum was right all along.

All the more sweet it would be to cast the blame upon Burzash himself. Whiteskins were such blind _flâgîtu_ ; she could easily mistake Maukum for Burzash, even in the light.

Then his eyes found the female tending that piece of shit, Kalus. She felt his gaze on her and glanced up; Maukum was momentarily wrong-footed. Something hit him in the gut; a sudden heaviness and heat. His brow furrowed uncertainly.

As if of their own accord, his nostrils flared and quivered, searching for her scent among all those in the hall. He licked his lips and leered at her, making her blanche and look away. Chuckling, he tilted his head and made note of the strange sensations that coursed through him.

He wanted her. Not simply for revenge, but for always. His breath began to quicken at the thought of that female on her back. He swallowed hard and gasped, his member hardening swiftly. Not just serving him, but _serving_ him. In his mind's eye, he saw himself striding across the hall and ripping her clothing off. Having her right there. Hopefully where Kalus, that worthless dung pile, could see.

Body quivering, he tried to shake it off, but the need was strong. He could see no way to assuage it except by possessing her. Making her his. Thoroughly and repeatedly.

* * *

Mog strained to keep silent in the storeroom. There were many shelves about the walls, and a free-standing one in the center of the floor. He hid behind the shelf and furiously masturbated as quickly as he could. Even though the door was closed and the keep was settling in for the night, he couldn't be certain that someone wouldn't wander in looking for something.

He hated being so enthralled. Not once had he seen Rukh undone like this the whole time he was being kept at arm's length from Romana.

It was humiliating. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Whenever he turned around, there she was. If he caught Fulgirgûg giving her any kind of look, he'd beat the shit out of that fuckwit.

Was he so pathetic that a mere glance from a female made him her slave? Had he known it would be like _this_ , cowering in the dark trying to relieve an ache he couldn't soothe in any other way, he wouldn't have spoken so glibly of finding a mate. If this was what came of it, he'd sooner go without.

Yet imagining Hilda accepting, even _desiring_ him, gave Mog nearly as much pain as it did pleasure, hastening his release.

 _She ain't gonna want you_ , he admonished himself as he cleaned up. _Just keep clear of her. No sense gettin' yourself all worked up._

He sat in the dark for several minutes, letting his breathing slow to normal. Leaning against the wall, he wondered if those Dunlending pigs needed any help with the wall they were fixing. That might take him far enough away from Hilda that he could make it through a day without having to come back to this room.

Because this couldn't be all there was. It just _couldn't_. There _had_ to be more to this mate business than just mating, wasn't there?

* * *

"Perhaps you will feel better tomorrow," Sunni sighed, laying down the bowl of stew she'd brought to Kalus. He wasn't in as bad shape as the others; he simply needed to eat. The stew was relatively bland and thin; she'd hoped it would not shock his system, yet be robust enough to give him strength.

That was assuming he'd actually eat it.

"It has been a remarkable day, don't you think?" she ventured. He'd not said a word since realizing he still lived; her conversation had been awkward and one-sided. "Long have we been enemies, yet today we came together as friends. Is that not strange?"

Kalus closed his eyes and tried to ignore her, a task that had proven impossible. This one was worse than Romana; so much worse. She had no others to distract her or divert her attention. Some cruel bastard put her up to plaguing him endlessly. Though he gave no response to any of her attempts to engage him in her meaningless yammering, it did not seem to stop her.

How he wished he truly felt such contempt for her company.

Sunni's voice was calm and gentle; so different from the voices of Orcs. Though he feigned indifference, he listened to every word, for they were as anchors to him. Moorings to which he could fasten himself, and so not drift away.

Mog had said he feared living, but Kalus wasn't so sure. At the moment, both living _and_ dying seemed to be equally dreadful.

* * *

Leofwen considered it a small victory that she'd gotten several teaspoons of herb-infused broth into the sleeper. At least now, she hoped, the medicine would begin to work on his fever.

His body was so wasted, his once-tough hide gone parchment thin... Though the sleepers occupied the pallets closest to the hearth, he seemed unhelped by the heat. She had three blankets layered over him, and still he shivered.

Determination renewed, she fetched more broth. He _had_ to take more in. She set a personal goal to get at least as many teaspoons more into him.

The broth was fresh from the pot and steaming. She debated letting it cool first, then wondered if the heat might not urge a response from him. It was not scalding; he would not be burned, but perhaps he might make some sound of protest? Anything at all?

Tasting it herself first, she found it was hot, but not painfully so, and slipped a scant spoonful between his slack lips.

"There now," she soothed, gently massaging his throat. "Come along. Tell me it is too hot. I long to hear your complaint. Tell me of it." To her relief, his brow furrowed ever so slightly, and he grunted. "That's it. Quite unbearable, wasn't it? Will the next spoonful be as bad? Let's find out."

It seemed the heat stimulated him just enough to swallow more readily. He accepted half again as many spoonfuls as she'd set out to give him before she let him rest.

Gazing down at his face, she found her hands straying here and there. She brushed strands of hair from his sweat-dampened forehead. She smoothed her fingers over his cheeks and neck.

His face, utterly relaxed in his sleeping state, seemed so... gentle. She fancied that he was soft-spoken as well. Perhaps he had never raised a sword against Men, for his face seemed less scarred than his brethren's faces. Yet there were scars upon his body.

She'd bathed him as best she could before covering him with the blankets, and had a fair view of his unclad chest in the bargain. A fellow healer had helped her turn him on his side to wash his back, and she was stunned by the number of scars there. There were not many marks made by blades or spears; she was fairly sure they were made by the lash.

Upon his chest, however, was a marking of great interest. Burned into his flesh was the image of a bird with wings outstretched. Beneath the crude drawing was what appeared to be flames. It put her so in mind of an ancient tale told by her nan that she hoped very much to learn the reason for such a thing to be carved upon _him_.

* * *

"Did anyone see you?" Romana whispered, taking a peek down the deserted, torchlit hall.

"No," Rukh replied. "I was careful."

Closing the door of her room and locking it, Romana turned to Rukh and just looked at him. All the worries she'd had over the next moment of life for the other Uruk-hai were now shifted to what the future held for her and Rukh. The fact that he had to sneak behind the guardsmen's backs and keep to the shadows just to be with her – _at her invitation_ – filled her with sadness. Back home, there might be a snotty remark here and there about her 'ugly boyfriend,' but neither would _die_ because they loved one another.

Close to tears, Romana swiftly embraced him. Their kiss was almost brutal in its desperate passion. Rukh lowered her onto her narrow bed and with much fumbling and a few chuckles over their own clumsiness, they disrobed and lay together. Gazing down at her face, his brow furrowed and he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers.

"I hate this," he growled softly. "Is it so ugly we must hide it?"

"I think it's beautiful," she murmured, stroking his back. "I wish I could love you in the light, Rukh. I wish I didn't care what anyone thought." Tears filled her eyes as she caressed his pain-filled face. "But I'm so afraid something will happen to you. They can do what they want to me; I don't care. But if anything were to happen to _you_ because... because I love you and want to be with you... I don't think I could stand it."

"I do not fear death," he said with a slight smile. "If I am to die tomorrow for being with you tonight..." He faltered, and pressed his forehead to hers. "I will die, and make no complaint."


	40. Lying Tongues and Treacherous Feet

"Yours is not a simple question to answer," Erkenbrand hedged uncomfortably. He wasn't accustomed to simply speaking with someone like Burzash; long habit made his hand itch to grasp a sword hilt. While the Orc wasn't acting particularly provocative, the fact remained that of all his fellows in the keep, he was among those most able to cause trouble. He was also the designated leader, implying that any displeasure he might feel about the treatment his folk received would bring disastrous results.

Yet looking in his eyes, Erkenbrand wasn't so sure of that last assumption.

Burzash frowned. "Yeah, it is. You either kill us all, or put us in chains. We ain't bein' killed, so... I gotta assume... the chains are comin'," He closed his eyes for a moment and clenched his jaw. Fixing Erkenbrand with a hard look, he added, "Just... wanna know when."

The Lord of the Westfold blinked, unsure how to respond. The Orc's gaze was intense and predatory; his face was dark-skinned and scarred from many battles. His brow hung heavy over his eyes, giving the appearance of a threatening creature peering from beneath a rock. His unnaturally yellow eyes gleamed brightly.

Erkenbrand had never stood so close to a living Orc without driving a sword through it. Putting one in chains, enslaving one, had never occurred to him. They were simply not allowed to live long enough for such a question to be posed.

"We did not put chains on your fellow, Rukhtorû," he replied evasively. "What makes you think..."

"He was a special case, I hear," the Orc said dismissively. "And Romana was takin' him with her. You wouldn't have to... deal with him no more. Now you got twenty of us sittin' in your keep. That's... that's a bit different."

"In all honesty, I did not think she would survive at his side to the end of the ramp," Erkenbrand chuckled quietly. "I protested her foolhardiness, but her fellows were certain she would fair well. In spite of her... company."

"I know you don't trust us," Burzash nodded. "It's understandable."

"I find it difficult even to speak with you," Erkenbrand confessed. "We have ever been at odds, your kind and mine."

"Aye," Burzash agreed. "The two of us talkin', not tryin' to kill each other... it ain't easy."

"I am not sure I will ever get used to it," Erkenbrand said wryly. "I am not so young as I once was. Some things are difficult to ignore, even harder to forget."

Burzash winced. He supposed he could trot out excuse upon excuse of how they followed orders or didn't know the things they did were considered wrong by almost everyone. Though true, it felt too much like scraping and groveling for forgiveness he knew he'd never receive. Fuck if he wasn't doing enough of that already. "Don't blame you for that," he muttered.

"Still, it is strangely difficult seeing your... men in their present condition," Erkenbrand said. "I am told that only in the last two weeks, they have declined to this point. It is... disconcerting."

Snorting bitterly, Burzash growled, "Try watchin'em waste away right in front of you. And you can't... can't do _nothin'_ to stop it." He bowed his head and gasped a little, clenching his fists as he tried to rein in emotions he wasn't accustomed to dealing with. Had he not also been trying to overcome that strange attraction to Eadburga along with the worry over what Maukum would do, he might have been able to manage better. He thought a good night's sleep would prepare him for this conversation. He thought he could handle it. He wasn't so sure now.

But he'd figured out over the last several days what was expected of a true leader. _Protect your people_ , Romana said. _On my knees if I have to_ , he'd come to realize.

Watching the Orc struggle to master himself, Erkenbrand was struck by how similar to Men his reaction was. He would have expected disregard; hadn't he, on many occasions, seen the dead left behind, with no effort made to reclaim them after the skirmish? He'd been obliged, he now recalled with slight discomfort, to detail his men out into the battlefield to dispatch any that lay wounded and abandoned by their retreating brethren. Seeing one of Burzash's kind clearly concerned for the welfare of his fellows was a surprise.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Burzash looked Erkenbrand in the eye and said with a shaking voice barely held under control, "Just tell me, all right? When we get our strength back... _if_ it comes back for some of us, what're you gonna do? Are we... You gonna put us in pens or cages? Are we gonna be given to your men to... shine their boots or... tend their horses? Or... just... put in a dungeon somewhere... Left in the dark." Chuckling humorlessly, he added, "If we were proper Orcs, that wouldn't be so bad, I suppose. But we're... we're Uruk-hai. We gotta see the sun... sometimes."

Erkenbrand frowned. "I do not understand. Are not the Uruk-hai the same as Orcs? I was informed that..." He paused uncomfortably, recalling Romana's revelation of their origins. "You seem to be... Orcish. Is this not the case?"

A slight smile lifted one corner of Burzash's mouth, yet he did not seem particularly amused. "Ask an Orc if the Isengarders are the same as them, and they'll tell you no. Likely cut your throat for even askin'. Should be obvious, to their way of thinkin'. Maybe thirty years ago, we had more Orc in us, but... even I know you get less Orc every time you breed us... with... Men..." Burzash ground to an awkward halt, seeing the look on Erkenbrand's face. "Sorry," he muttered.

"I am aware of how you were made," the Lord of the Westfold growled. "You needn't remind me."

Burzash nodded, chagrined. "So... you could say we're... Orcish Men, or Mannish Orcs... somethin' like that," he shrugged. "Ain't many of us old enough to be more Orc than Man, not anymore. We probably don't live real long either, not like Orcs."

"Orcs live a long time?"

"Yeah," Burzash replied. "Knew a few that'd been around for hundreds of years. Nasty old bastards, they were. Probably had to be, livin' for so long without some whiteski-... some Man killin'em."

Erkenbrand's eyes narrowed as he examined the Orc's face again. "How old are you, Burzash?"

Startled by the unexpected question, Burzash blinked rapidly for several seconds. "Uh... I don't know. I think... I might've seen snow on the ground about eight or nine times. Give or take."

"How... how is that possible?" Erkenbrand breathed, shocked horror on his face. He couldn't help it; he looked Burzash up and down, noting his height and musculature. There was nothing childlike about him; he was as like a fully grown Man as made no difference. How could he have fewer years than a gangly squire, and be a leader of Orcs? It made no sense.

Shrugging, Burzash said, "Master had his magic, so I'm told. We weren't any use to him as whelps, so he made us... sort of skip that bit. None of us here know how he went about things; probably just as well. But somehow or other, we come out all grown. Ready to fight."

"I see," Erkenbrand nodded, feeling slightly ill. He'd thought the wizard foul enough for making them in the first place, but to employ dark sorcery in the process was beyond the pale. "How many of you were there?"

Burzash sighed and shook his head. "So many, the valley turned black when we were all called out at once," he said wistfully. "The halls were nigh impossible to pass through and the barracks were full to capacity. You hoped a couple troops from your barracks would get called up for a raid or battle so you could stretch out for once," he chuckled. Then his face fell, and his voice lost its vigor. "Now there's just us twenty."

It occurred to Erkenbrand quite suddenly as he watched the Orc's eyes shimmer with unshed tears he was fighting like mad to keep at bay, that he'd never seen an Orc show any emotions but hate and anger. What had he seen in the eyes of this one? Remorse and shame for his past deeds. Loyalty to and caring for his brethren. What seemed now to be anguish as he stood helplessly watching his folk dwindle to nothing before his eyes.

Erkenbrand realized that Burzash had little control over his emotions as well. Perhaps this infirm grasp worked well to exploit the hate and anger, fueling them to a fever pitch in battle. But Burzash was not in a fight; at least not one of a physical nature. Judging by the sweat standing out on his forehead, this fight was presenting a more difficult challenge.

Burzash appeared as one for whom one more bit of bad news would mean the collapse of his feeble control. Erkenbrand almost thought the Orc might cry. That alone was a shocking thought.

Shaking himself, Erkenbrand said awkwardly, "Yes, well..."

"Just...," Burzash interrupted, "just let us live. Us twenty. That's... that's all there'll be. We're done, after this." He swallowed hard, and his voice shook. "One by one... we'll... we'll go. You won't be troubled by Uruk-hai no more." Wincing, he looked away. "Suppose... you could just... kill us. End your trouble now. I'm... I'm beggin' you, _don't_. Please. Let us... try to fix... what we broke."

Erkenbrand couldn't think of what to say as Burzash growled low and swiped the back of his clawed hand across his eyes. The Lord of the Westfold was suddenly struck with the realization that he was not speaking with a monster. All his life, he had categorized Orcs as one thing. Regardless of this one's making, he _looked_ terrifyingly Orcish. Was it the tempering of Mannish blood that made him capable of remorse? Or was Erkenbrand simply seeing an Orc off the battlefield for the first time in his life? Was it possible he had ignored the possibility that Orcs couldn't, or rather _shouldn't_ be viewed so narrowly?

Taking several deep breaths, Burzash struggled to fill the silence his slip apparently caused.

"Mog's already wantin' to go out on the wall," he went on. "Somebody said... it was our master that blew it up. We weren't here; we didn't know. He wants to help rebuild it." Grimacing, he added, "If you... need to have him... him and Foshân... in chains to let'em help..."

"I... I do not think that will be necessary," Erkenbrand stammered. In truth, he was moved by this Orc. At some point, he'd come to terms with the fact that he was speaking with a defeated enemy leader, not simply an Orc. This Orc had accepted full responsibility for the survival of not only his remaining troops, but the last vestiges of his entire race. Like any leader backed into a corner with more than his own honor and dignity to defend, Burzash abandoned the latter to save what little of the former he had left. Erkenbrand had no doubt that if he showed an ounce of reluctance, the Orc would be pleading on his knees.

Burzash took a steadying breath. "So... they can go, then?" At the Man's nod, he forced himself to smile a little. "Good. Mog used to build siege engines and whatnot. Got a sense for that sort of thing. He won't be happy unless he gets his hands busy." Then he chuckled. "Won't take much to please Foshân. He'll be helpin'. He's strong; he can haul stone and such. He'll like that."

"What of Rukhtorû?" Erkenbrand asked.

Grunting with amusement, Burzash replied, "You can't pry him from Romana's side." Glancing up, he saw the suspicious look in the horselord's eyes and scrambled for a way to cover his mistake. "Cause... Romana saved his life," he hastily explained. "He sort of... pledged himself to keep her safe. He don't feel like she would be if... if, you know, he ain't around. Watchin'." Shrugging helplessly, he added, "That's kind of how Orcs think of these things."

"I see," Erkenbrand said, somewhat mollified. "What about you, then?"

"I'm gonna stay in the hall," Burzash said. "I wanna make sure my boys don't... I'll be honest, half of'em don't know where the fuck they are. When they figure it out, I don't want'em... hurtin' your women. I wanna be on hand. When they come around, I wanna tell'em... we ain't in Isengard no more. We got... a new master now." His throat closed and he choked on those words, forcing himself to look away.

As if of its own accord, Erkenbrand's hand rested on Burzash's shoulder, and he found himself saying, "I can make no promise of your fate when the war ends and my king returns. But for now, there will be no chains and no cages... unless you force my hand."

Relief was plain in the Orc's face. A degree of tension released in his body. "I'll see that nobody does." But his brow furrowed. "That... sort of leads to another question. When there's a troublemaker about, Orcs don't... let him cause no trouble. Either he gets beaten into the ground, or... well... Anyway, I got a troublemaker itchin' to cause a ruckus. If he tries to stir up some shit, I wanna know that it ain't gonna kill all of us."

Nodding, Erkenbrand supplied, "You speak of Maukum."

"Aye," Burzash said, narrowing his eyes. "You know about him?"

"Romana warned me," he explained. "She told me he is likely to make things difficult for the rest of you. She said he alone holds such an opinion. The rest of you are not so... hostile."

Burzash nodded. "Far as I know, he's the only one."

"If he attempts to cause trouble, what will you do?" Erkenbrand asked. "What method is acceptable among your kind for administering discipline?"

Swallowing, Burzash replied awkwardly, "If I was in Isengard still, and he pulled some shit, I'd kill him. I've been told that ain't the way Men handle things."

"No, it is not," Erkenbrand confirmed. It came as no surprise to him that this would be the way of things among Orcs, nor did it entirely surprise him that the wizard, already proved a scoundrel, would condone such acts among his soldiery. Romana's words came back to him: _teach them the things Saruman didn't_. One of those things was fair treatment, a lesson that must begin with him. "Only a grievous crime warrants slaying, and only after it is proved. If Maukum should cause trouble, subdue him only. We shall decide his fate, you and I together."

"All right," Burzash nodded.

"What sort of... 'trouble' do you expect from him?" Erkenbrand asked. "It is possible your idea of a crime differs from mine."

"He wants things back the way they were under our master," Burzash explained. "He may kill someone. Might go so far as to corner one of your women and... and rape'em." Recalling the looks Maukum was giving Burga as well as Kalus's healer, he scowled. "Likely do that first."

Glancing at Erkenbrand's face, he could guess where on the 'grievous crime' scale rape fell.

"That was the sort of thing we were told to do," Burzash explained, feeling the horselord's earlier sympathy drifting away. "No excuse for it, I suppose. Didn't even think..." Burzash felt sick inside, even without acknowledging the horrified look on the Man's face.

Forcing himself to continue, Burzash growled, "Maukum's still wantin' to do that. Can't speak for all of my boys; a few of'em ain't been aware of nothin' since the flood. But I'll tell'em that shit ain't happening again. _Never_ again."

"Then... you understand that it is wrong?"

"Aye," Burzash nodded, his face contorting with disgust. "If it weren't for Romana, I wouldn't have known. She... sorta made me see things different. A lotta things."

Erkenbrand eyed him coldly. "You have done this, haven't you? You have raped my people."

The Orc's face twitched and he looked away. It was several moments before he responded. "Yeah. I did."

"Yet you do not share Maukum's... interests?" the horselord growled. "You will not rape again?"

" _No_ ," Burzash said firmly, meeting Erkenbrand's eyes. " _Never_ again." Some of the Orc's natural ferocity surfaced as he snarled, "I catch Maukum at it, or even _threatenin'_ it, and I ain't gonna stop at subduin' him. Just so we got an understandin' about that."

Nodding slowly, Erkenbrand said, "I believe we do. And just so _we_ are clear: You are in Rohan, and must abide the king's law. So must I. If we are to... coexist, we must both respect that. Not just in laws, but in punishments. Your Maukum will be treated fairly if he should step over the line. He will also suffer the same fate any of my men would if they had done the same."

Burzash nodded. "Better'n I expected, really. I'll... I'll warn him. Don't think it'll do any good, but..." Shrugging, he let his doubtful statement hang.

"It is only fair," Erkenbrand noted.

"Yeah," Burzash agreed. "Fair."

As if by mutual agreement, they turned away from one another and headed in opposite directions down the hall. Burzash was groaning inwardly at how pathetic he must have seemed, how weak as he grovelled – regardless that the end result had been favorable – when he turned a corner and nearly ran into Eadburga.

She was trembling and staring at him wide-eyed. He didn't need to draw a deep breath of her scent to know she was afraid. One look at her told him she'd likely overheard his conversation with Erkenbrand. Or at least she'd heard the last bits.

What could he say? Perhaps it was best... "Burga...," he began, and she flinched.

Before either of them could utter another word, a young boy who ran errands for the healers came running up to her.

"Mistress Burga!" he cried, skidding to a halt. "One'uh them Orcs went and died. You gotta come quick. Gunda's in a right state."

"Oh my," Burga breathed, and gathering her skirts, she hastened after the boy. Burzash didn't hesitate; he followed them both.

The hall was uncharacteristically full of activity, with nearly all the healers gathered in one spot clucking and chattering away. Burga waded into the fray, urging and cajoling the healers to return to their duties. Burzash's eyes scanned the Uruks; most were still on their bedrolls. Of those, only a few were cognizant enough to note what was happening. He made out Rukh and Romana beside one of the pallets, and several healers clustered around one who was utterly distraught. Mog caught his eye and met him before the leader reached the knot of folk.

"It was Khûriip," Mog said in an undertone. "Couldn't hang on. He was too sick. Nothin' she done coulduh helped. Maukum's already sayin' she poisoned him." Curling his lip, he growled, "Couple of'em're gettin' nervous, thinkin' their healer's gonna off'em."

Burzash could feel it rising, an explosive urge to _hurt_ something so he wouldn't feel so fucking helpless. Maukum would do nicely, but spouting filthy lies probably wasn't considered a crime worthy of a pounding, much less a killing.

"I'll... I'll see to this," Burzash finally said. "You, uh... you got permission to go to the wall, if you want. Take Foshân with you. Keep'im outta trouble."

Mog nodded, eying his leader closely. "Careful. Don't lose it, all right?"

Glowering at the Uruk, Burzash snarled, "Fuck off, Mog."

"That's better," Mog replied, a slight smile on his face. "Rough chat with the whiteskin, eh?"

"Don't you have a wall to fix?"

"Yeah," Mog nodded, his grin broadening. "I'll just go do that." Then he turned and trotted off, looking for the giant berserker.

Burzash didn't know if he could take any more today. Slowly approaching the group, he heard the distraught healer, Gunda, sobbing inconsolably.

 _What's she weepin' about?_ he wondered. _One of_ _ **us**_ _? Khûriip must've saved his dying breath for some insulting words._

The one Mog was so taken with, Hilda, helped the nearly hysterical woman to her feet and steered her out of the hall. Romana's tears were not a surprise; he'd seen her weep for them before. Rukh must surely itch to comfort her, but was forced to hold back. Reluctantly approaching, Burzash looked down at the wasted form of the dead Uruk and his gut wrenched.

If Khûriip was a spindly, gaunt, feverish sack of bones before, he was worse now. Burzash had to fight to hold down his nausea. Would they _all_ end like this? Was he fooling himself, thinking the whiteskins had the power to reverse the damage, or even the will to do so?

One less. They were one less. How many more today? Tomorrow?

Meeting Rukh's eyes, Burzash could see his tension and the desperate need to sooth his mate's anguish, and was struck anew with the horrible truth. Even if a whiteskin female came to them willingly, even if true caring and affection lay between them, it must be hidden as though it were shameful. As though the mere thought of such a grotesquery would mean being cast out or punished. Who among these people would risk being shunned, or likely worse?

He didn't even realize he'd left the hall until he found himself in the corridor, aiming for the storeroom. Furious, he nearly took the door off its hinges going in, then slammed it shut. In the corner was a stack of flour sacks. The topmost bag was about to receive the beating of its life.

* * *

"All of you, back to your charges," Burga ordered, shooing one healer after another away from the dead Uruk. Gunda was incoherent in her sorrow, but the head healer was too wrapped in her own shock to see to her. "Hilda, please take her someplace quiet to calm down."

"Yes, Burga," Hilda replied, carrying out her orders quickly.

Glancing over her shoulder, Burga saw the Uruk leader's stricken face as he turned away abruptly and left. Her first urge was to follow; he'd suffered a loss that was too dear. He must surely need comfort in his grief.

She wanted to embrace him. Hold him and tell him it was all right.

The urge startled and frightened her, and she gnawed her lip with uncertainty. What had come over her? Had she been so long a widow that she was blinded to what she saw, ignoring what she _heard_?

Burzash's words with Erkenbrand moved her at first. So selfless, so courageous to plead for his folk, to beg an opportunity for mending the horrors they'd committed. Prostrating himself before his _enemy_. Burga did not claim understanding of Orc-kind, but it seemed to her that this sort of display was wholly unexpected. She could hear the surprise in Erkenbrand's voice as he witnessed it. Then Burzash had confessed his deeds...

She was no fool; she knew of the depravities committed by Man and Orc alike when the enemies paid a visit. There were a few in her charge, both young and old, who were not spared. None were present in the hall; Burga was not the sort to put anyone in an uncomfortable position. It was enough of a difficulty for her and the handful of others who'd lost husbands to the Orcs. And now she found herself drawn to one of their kind in a way so reminiscent of how her late husband drew her...

Something about Burzash spoke to her heart. How she wished that voice would go silent now, or that her heart would not strain so to hear even a whisper of it.

Before she realized she was moving, her feet had taken her to the storeroom door. She could hear the muffled sounds of the Orc thrashing at something inside. _I must be mad_ , she thought as her trembling hand pulled the latch and opened the door.

His back was too her; she could see the strength of the blows he rained down on the hapless sack of flour in the bunched muscles of his shoulders and arms. He seemed focused entirely on venting his grief, and did not hear her enter the room. She tried clearing her throat, but it was a feeble sound and did not distract him.

"Burzash," she said nervously.

He froze at the sound of her voice and slowly placed his hands flat on the sack. She could hear him drawing a breath, then his fingers curled, digging his claws into the burlap. He seemed to be quivering like a taut bowstring. _How he must despise me!_ she lamented.

"I... I am...," she stammered. He hadn't turned around; she didn't know quite how to address him, except to do it quickly and be gone. "I realize this... is a bad time. Is there... a ceremony we should...?"

"No," he growled. He seemed to shudder and twitch slightly. His voice shook when he added, "Ask... ask Romana. She'll wanna... do one'uh them funerals, I expect."

"Then... your folk... you don't..."

He shook his head wordlessly. She didn't have the strength to probe further.

"If there is anything you need...," she said, and her voice failed her. Turning awkwardly in the stony silence, she started to leave.

"Burga."

His voice was so low, she might not have heard it had she not been straining to do so. Yet when she turned back, she found he hadn't moved.

"Suppose... you heard the worst," Burzash said dully. "I don't guess it matters to you or your folk... your leader or your king, but... I'm sorry."

Burga swallowed nervously. "Yes... I... it was my own fault, perhaps," she said, forcing a humorless chuckle. "I saw you going to Erkenbrand, and I... wanted to hear..."

"Yuh heard, all right," he growled. "Heard enough to make you sick, I'll warrant."

"Quite so," she breathed, wincing. "I confess, I did not want to believe such things... of _you_. Foolish, I suppose."

"You got no reason to fear me, Burga," he said flatly. "I don't ever wanna be what I was again. Makes me... sick... knowin' I ever was."

The storeroom's silence was almost palpable, yet Burga did not know what to say to break it. She was almost relieved when Burzash spoke again.

"We didn't know... what sorta folk you were," he rasped, his voice losing its strength. "Master told us to hate you. Didn't say why. Didn't think... that mattered, I suppose. Just... put swords in our hands and... set us loose." He shuddered visibly, and his head hung lower. "Romana said... if you lot showed us any mercy... it'd be cause you're... good people. Not cause... we're forgiven or... owed it. Didn't think we'd get... nothin' from you. Except a sword through the heart. It's what we deserve."

He paused for a moment, and Burga's hand went to her heart.

"We... hurt your people," he went on. His voice trembled as though tears were close. "Gave you no reason... _no reason_... to help us. But you did. You took us in. You're showin' us... mercy."

"Knowing your master told you nothing of right or wrong," Burga replied, "helped us see you as deserving of a second chance."

"Guess we see _you_ now," he went on. "We _know_ you now. And... I don't think we can... I _hope_ we can't... be... Not to you. Not anymore."

A small amount of relief eased some of Burga's tension. "I expect the same can be said of us. Until now, we did not know _you_ either. We thought of you as... savages. You showed us you could be something other than a beast."

He snorted. "I _was_ a beast... an animal... all the things you believed of us. When my master was defeated, that beast died. Now I'm... somethin' different."

Swallowing, she asked tightly, "What... sort of... What are you now?"

"I don't know," he replied, his voice betraying how close he was to the breaking point. "Ain't an Orc. Ain't a Man. We're hated by both. Maybe... Kalus's got the right of it. Maybe we should... stop fightin' to live."

"You shouldn't speak like that, Burzash," she said, shaking her head. _No, please don't. Take heart._ _ **Please**_.

He slowly nodded, and she felt a surge of relief. "Guess we got a lot of... payin' to do. Can't fix anything if we're all dead. There's just... so much... We broke so much..."

"Burzash," she said firmly, "you are not expected to take on such a heavy burden yourselves. You are fewer now. If you feel compelled to make amends, your efforts will be appreciated, no matter how small they seem."

"Ain't ever gonna be enough," he murmured. Before she could respond, he growled, "Leave me, Burga." Seemingly as an afterthought, he added less harshly, "Please."

"Of course," she replied. "If you need anything..."

"Yeah," he said thickly, his voice breaking.

Burga left the storeroom and quietly closed the door. Yet she could not bring herself to return to the hall. Leaning against the door, she closed her eyes and tried not to weep as the sounds of Burzash's fists against the sack of flour renewed, accompanied now with growls and what must surely be sobs.

* * *

Elfhild needed to breathe the free air for a moment. Sending Gunda to her room to lie down, and checking briefly on Fulgirgûg's condition, she wrapped herself in a shawl and hurried outside. The hall was stifling and the smells made her unexpectedly nauseous.

Gunda's distress upset Hilda greatly. That the woman could have such a reaction within a day of knowing the Orc... How could it be so? Yet as she stood on the battlements looking over the field below, still churned up from the recent battle, she recalled Gunda's tale, and a lump rose in her throat.

He'd been called Khûriip, she'd said. He knew his time was close, and refused her offer of assistance, wouldn't allow her to call a more experienced healer to his aid. Hilda's eyes filled, recalling the words he spoke to Gunda.

_I don't know what I'll see when I close my eyes. Let me remember something... something kind. Don't leave me, Gunda. Don't leave._

It struck her now, as her eyes blurred, that she did not know what Khûriip would see, either. To whose bosom would he be embraced in death? Who claimed the Orc's spirit when it was loosed from his body? It was such a fundamental question, and one taken utterly for granted by her and her folk. Did the Orcs not have a similar source of comfort?

Most of those who were aware of their surroundings refused to look at Khûriip or acknowledge his passing. Burzash hastened from the hall, looking quite like he would be ill. While Romana wept openly and laid hands upon the Orc's body, her companion Rukhtorû seemed uncomfortable and anxious to do something, yet impotently unable.

To her shame, she had to admit that she did not shed as many tears at the news of her husband's death as Gunda spilled at Khûriip's bedside.

Dimly, the sounds of workers on the wall below came to her ears, and she turned to look. Among the pale complexions of the Men, she made out the darker skin of Mog and that giant of an Orc, Foshân.

All knew Foshân was a bit slow. Quite like a child, in fact. Such a weakness should have been exploited by his fellows to great amusement; it was what Hilda might have expected before today. But she saw Mog working alongside the giant, patiently showing him what to do, guiding his hands, clearly making certain that he was not confused by the orders of the supervisors overseeing the construction.

Oddly, she recalled Gunda's assertion that Khûriip offered apologies for his deeds. He did not ask forgiveness for the things he'd done, only for what he _couldn't_ do. He wanted to make amends; by dying, he couldn't. At least, not the way he wanted to.

_Maybe... me dying... will give someone... their vengeance. Spare the rest of us... being killed off. I deserve to die like this, so don't... don't stop it._

Even as Hilda looked down, she saw Mog stop for a moment and slowly turn his head. His eyes traveled up, up the wall. Perhaps on another day, she might have cringed and fled, finding an Orc's eyes so intently focused upon her. But today, now, she boldly returned his gaze. There were many questions she felt compelled to ask. She wanted to hear his voice answer.

Below her, Mog fought a losing battle against his traitorous feet, so keen to drag his ass up there. At least there was one good thing about that: he could rub it in the Dunlendings' faces that he had permission to leave the building site anytime he wanted. _He_ wasn't ordered by the king to fix this wall. Catching one of their eyes, he smirked as he notified the Rohirrim man in charge that he was taking a break for a bit. His grin broadened as the Dunlending scowls deepened. _Fuck you, yuh filthy puppets of the Hand_ , he sneered.

Hilda watched his progress as he made his way around the wall, through the gaping breach, and up the stairs to where she stood. He was stopped by a guard she hadn't even been aware of, who must have shadowed her when she left the hall.

"Where are you off to, Orc?" the man growled.

"It is all right," Hilda assured him, and though he eyed Mog suspiciously, he allowed the Orc to pass. A mixture of impotent defiance and humiliation at the guard's approach darkened Mog's expression.

"Good to see yuh again, Hilda," he said in a subdued tone. He seemed unable to raise his head, and his hands twitched nervously.

"You remembered my name," she replied with a slight smile. Her brow pinched with sympathy. "I am so sorry for the loss of Khûriip. Did you know him well?"

Mog sighed and frowned, leaning on the wall and looking out over the field as she had done only minutes before. "No. We all sort of got thrown together. Knew his name; not much else. He didn't... really have a stomach for talk."

"I see," she said quietly. How to ask the questions that burned in her mind? Instead of philosophizing with the Orc – goodness only knew why she thought he'd have anything to say on the matter – she asked, "How goes the rebuilding? I hadn't expected any of you would be... interested."

"Wanted to get outta the hall," he shrugged. "Hot as fuck in there. And..." His shoulders twitched awkwardly in another shrug. "Wanted to help. You know. Cause... we fucked up a lot of shit 'round here. Ain't gonna be put to good use any other way, like as not." He chuckled humorlessly. "Nobody'll put a sword in my hand again. Might as well... do whatever else needs doin'. Lotta this, I expect." He gestured vaguely toward the worksite, then ground to a halt, unsure what else to say.

Being so near her, he found his body reacting urgently, and it made him ill. Didn't all that shit die with his master's voice? Could he not just stand there next to a female and not want on top of her, for fuck's sake? That he could, and had, around the other healers didn't occur to him now; _now_ it was terribly important that he restrain the urge, because _now_ it was a consuming thing. All their lives depended on him keeping his dick to himself.

He should find some reason to back away and go haul bricks or mix mortar. That's what he should be doing. Get his hands and mind busy elsewhere. Not stand here basking in her scent, as intoxicating as a strong Orc draught...

"Mog?"

Startled, he shook himself and his eyes darted in a panic. He forced himself to smile a little. "You remember _my_ name."

Blushing slightly, Hilda tried not to smile in return. "It is an easy name to remember. I am glad you feel the need to assist. Your master's foul magics did such damage..."

Frowning, Mog said, "What?"

"Didn't you know?" she asked. He shook his head.

"I wasn't here," he explained. "None of us were, except Rukh. Most of us was at the Fords, though. Got beaten up a bit, so we went back to Isengard to get patched up."

Hilda's eyes widened. "Were... _you_ at the Fords?"

"Aye," Mog nodded. "We won, or I woulda been left to die. Likely finished off by... your people," he added uncomfortably.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she said unsteadily, "My... husband fought at the Fords."

The Orc furrowed his brow. "Your what?"

"My husband," she repeated, surprised from her disquiet by his ignorance. "Do you not know what that is?"

"Ain't heard the word," Mog said.

Taking a deep breath, Hilda said, "He and I were... joined, you might say."

"Like... mates?" he suggested tightly.

"Yes," she nodded, "I suppose you could say that."

He winced slightly, and seemed to force himself to ask, "He make it?"

"No," she replied sadly. "I am told he was buried there."

An awkward silence seemed determined to stretch between them, so Mog sought to thwart it. "Hope _I_ didn't kill him."

Looking sharply at the Orc, Hilda expected to see mockery in his expression, but he seemed utterly sincere, perhaps even worried. "You... you do?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, a little smile tipping one corner of mouth. "Suppose... it'd make you sad, if it was me that did it. I don't wanna make you sad." He ducked his head with what could only be called embarrassment.

Hilda found herself regarding him in a new way. His really wasn't... _so_ repulsive, as faces went. Not when it bore a sheepish grin, or when his brows twitched with amusement. At least when his lips hid his teeth, so sharp and threatening, he seemed almost like a young Man, albeit rough-skinned and scarred.

Yet there was something... ageless about his face, young as it seemed. As though his age did not match his years. "How old are you, Mog?" she asked.

It wasn't a question he'd ever been asked, and he floundered for an answer. The Uruk-hai didn't pay much attention to the passage of time, yet there was one thing that seemed universal to indicate a span of what Men called a year.

"I think... I seen snow on the ground...winter, right? Seen it maybe twice," he said, then frowned. "Three times. This last winter. That makes three." He nodded with a degree of confidence in his recollection.

She stared at him, incredulous. "You are three years old."

"Aye," he nodded, feeling inexplicably embarrassed.

"You look to be grown," she murmured in wonder.

Shrugging self-consciously, he said, "I am. Master didn't wanna waste no time on whelps, so..." He gestured helplessly.

"It is strange," Hilda said. "Are you all so... young? How old was Khûriip?"

"Uh... dunno," Mog replied, shaking his head. "Ain't somethin' we ask. Some you know been around a long time, but most of'us don't really care." Snorting and grinning, he added, "The ones that're oldest don't let you forget about it, though."

Smiling in return, Hilda nodded. "Understandable. I had a grandfather who died when I was young. He never let you forget all the things he accomplished, how important he was to the Riddermark, what battles he fought... He had such wonderful stories, but he did tend to repeat them."

"Aye," Mog laughed. "Guess we ain't that different, then. Sounds like some'uh them rotten old bastards I knew. 'You whelps got it easy!'" he barked, imitating one of his old _pizbûr_. "'Back in them days, I had to fight _twice_ as many little pisspots for a scrap of food as you gotta, so quit yer belly-achin'!'"

A greater laugh burst from Hilda, and she covered her mouth. Her eyes dances with merriment. "Oh my! I have heard something so like that many times! Well, except the fighting for food part."

Her laughter warmed Mog to his very toes, and he felt almost comfortable. But he could feel the eyes of the guard on his back, and wondered when this moment would come to an end.

As Hilda's humor faded, she realized Mog's face was troubled. Perhaps he grieved for Khûriip? All seemed to show indifference toward the Orc's death; she wondered if, with so few years, they even understood it? Or perhaps they simply ignored it as an unpleasant unknown?

"Mog," she ventured cautiously. To her amusement, his ears pricked almost like a horse's at the sound of her voice. "I am... curious. I mean no offense," she insisted quickly. "I simply... do not know."

Sobering, he tilted his head. "Whatcha wanna know?"

"Well," she said, taking a deep breath, "do Orcs... do _you_ know... what comes after? For your kind?"

"After what?" he frowned.

"After death," she said carefully. "Men have... a few beliefs. There is a place of peace and kind spirits awaiting us. Have Orcs a similar... ending?"

"I dunno," he shrugged. "Maybe Orcs do, but... we ain't... proper Orcs. Least, not to Orcs, we ain't."

"Oh," she said quietly, and felt saddened by this news. "You have no beliefs at all, then? You do not... wonder what is to come? Khûriip told Gunda he didn't know. I hoped, perhaps... you might..."

A half smile came to his face again. "Yeah, I wonder sometimes. Always kinda figured it'd be better'n this shit we're in now, but... maybe I was just hopin', you know? There's always talk of fightin' hard and gettin' glory for what yuh done. Not so much talk of what happens when yer too slow. Other than the obvious." He shrugged. "Guess we just think... you die, and that's it. So... live now, 'cause... you only got this bit to work with."

"I suppose one could find some comfort in that," she allowed. "And there is wisdom in the thought, as well. There is no sense in putting something off until tomorrow, for tomorrow may never come."

"So get it done today," Mog nodded.

"Quite so. You are an interesting person, Mog," Hilda said. "I confess I hadn't imagined... But I suppose I was curious. It is often my undoing."

"More curious than I am," he grunted. "Ain't really spent a _lotta_ time wonderin' 'bout it."

"Perhaps you weren't granted the luxury," she offered. "Without war calling you to arms, there may be time to wonder."

"Yeah," he nodded uncertainly. "Ain't really... used to just talkin'. But... I wouldn't mind it. If... you know... you're curious." Swallowing hard and shrugging as casually as he could, he added, "'Less you, uh... you'd rather talk to Fulgirgûg."

Hilda's eyebrow raised slightly and she pursed her lips to hide a flattered smile. "You will think me unkind, I'm sure, but I would prefer to speak with... one who is cheerful. It is difficult to find anything to laugh about in the hall at the moment, and I do enjoy laughing."

Encouraged, Mog smiled. "I like to hear yuh laugh. Anytime you wanna get away from all that," he said, gesturing toward the keep, "you come out here. I'll know." Winking, he tapped the side of his blunt nose.

"I do believe I will," she said sincerely. "I really must return. I have enjoyed speaking with you, Mog."

"Same here," he said.

As he watched her disappear into the hall, he wondered if he'd ever get this fucking grin off his face, or if he'd die looking like a fool.

* * *

"You should not say such things," Sunni admonished softly as she patted Kalus's face with a damp rag. "Not even in jest." He just glared at her for a moment then turned his face away, refusing to speak again. "I, at least, am glad it was _not_ you who passed. Take heart, Kalus. The sun has risen on another day. Perhaps when you are strong enough, we could take a short walk. Would you like that?"

"Leave me be," he growled in a low, menacing voice. She had heard a similar tone from him before and was barely moved. Yet she sighed, and dipped the rag in the cool water once more.

Wringing out the cloth, she observed, "I understand what you are feeling, Kalus. My own cousin despaired as you do. Shall I tell you of him?"

He snorted but made no other acknowledgement of her question. Sunni took that as permission to go on.

"My cousin's name was Heric," she began, smoothing the cloth down his neck and over his bare chest. "He was quite a brave and strong young man. His wife adored him. His children worshipped him. His friends were ever at his side, and would have followed him into the very jaws of death if he led them. He was admired by all."

Glancing down, she saw that Kalus was watching her from the corner of his eye. She tried not to smile at his attempt to fool her into believing he wasn't listening.

"He often visited me and my family in the village I used to live in," she continued, and her thoughts drifted off to that place, remembering happier times. But only for a moment. "Because we were so close to the border with Dunland, we were often plagued by them. They would cross over to burn our crops or steal our horses. Nothing we could not repel, of course." A grim look on her face, she added, "I slew a man myself once."

Sighing, she said, "It was a harsh life that compelled the women to take up arms beside the men to defend hearth and home. There came a day when the Dunlendings came and they were not alone. There were Orcs bearing the White Hand, and we could not best them."

Kalus saw the change come over her face as she spoke of his kind. Her eyes narrowed and twitched, and though she was not looking at him, he sensed that she saw someone like him, but not one who was in the hall. His heart all but stopped, and he found it difficult to swallow.

What else happened? He feared the answer.

"On that day," she went on tightly, her voice trembling slightly, "we were blessed. Quite blessed, for my cousin arrived with an _eored_ and they routed the raiders, slaying each one. None escaped their wrath, but our village was destroyed. We... pulled ourselves together and... gathered what we could. We came here, and have been at the Hornburg ever since."

Shaking herself and seeming to recall where she was, Sunni said, "Heric was so brave. So mighty. He took few wounds in that battle. My cousin was not felled by a weapon of the Enemy. He did not die gloriously in battle against a worthy foe. He was riding his horse. And not even to the rescue of... fair maidens. Just... for pleasure." She bowed her head for a moment, and fished a kerchief from her sleeve. Dabbing her eyes, she continued, "The horse's hoof went into a rabbit hole, and the leg snapped. Heric was thrown. He told me later that if it had happend in battle, he would have been prepared for it. One must always anticipate losing their horse out from under them at any moment. But not when simply riding."

She drew a deep breath to steady herself. "His back was broken, and he could not move. He could not end the suffering of his horse, and was forced to hear it cry in agony for a day before his absence was marked, and his friends went looking for him. He was never the same, as you can imagine. He was so brave and so strong, he felt that he could offer neither of those things any longer if he could not walk or sit a horse. He could feel nothing from the waist down. He despaired, believing his worth was measured in strength of arms and bravery in battle.

"I tried desperately to tell him otherwise," Sunni continued. "I told him that this would be a greater battle; learning to live as he was now, would show much greater strength and bravery than anything he had ever done before." She shook her head. "I did not convince him, and he ended his life. His wife loves him still, but she grieves most piteously. His children still worship him, but they lament that they shall never share with him their own triumphs and glories. His friends drink to his memory and the deeds he once did, and might have done."

Their eyes met briefly, then Kalus looked away, his brow furrowed. Sunni shifted her gaze elsewhere, regarding the scarring in the center of his chest. She'd wondered at its meaning before, but now did not seem the time to ask. Over his heart was carved a half circle with a horizontal line through it. She fancied it might represent a bow and arrow.

"I am sure you were brave," Sunni said quietly. "And you were strong. You will be again. You have but to imagine it."

He swallowed painfully, his throat dry. His entire body ached, and his stomach hurt so terribly he almost longed for the Pitmaster's whip. He knew that if she offered him water, he'd take it. Right now, his thirst was so strong and demanding he'd beg on his knees, if he could even rise from the pallet.

"Please, Kalus," she said gently, and he heard her filling a cup with water. "Drink, at least. Just a mouthful. All I ask of you is this one thing: live today. Just today. That is all."

Slowly turning his head, he growled, "And tomorrow? What're you gonna ask for tomorrow?"

"I will ask you for another day."

His eyes darted to the cup in her hand, and he swallowed reflexively. It felt like the inside of his throat was lined with broken glass and he winced.

"Just a cupful, Kalus," she whispered, edging closer. He jerked his head away and his breath quickened.

Yet he could not resist her hand slipping behind his head to lift him up a little, nor did he protest the cup brought to his lips. His treacherous mouth eagerly sucked the water down, whimpering with starved desperation and heady relief. When he'd drained the cup, Sunni gently lowered his head and drew back.

Glancing at her, Kalus saw not smugness or triumph but relief. He wasn't sure what was worse, and looked away.

"Look at me, Kalus," Sunni said, but he refused. "Do not feel shame for taking water." Sighing, she repeated, "Will you not look at me? At least show that you hear my words."

She intended to save him, he knew. Where she failed with her cousin, she intended to succeed with him. Already she was breaking down his defenses one by one. Kalus had little resistance left for anything, but this he would fight to his last breath, in hopes that time would come more swiftly.

Worse than the water was her attention and kindness. By her dedication, she was beginning to grow on him already, to the point where that morning, until she came to see him, he fretted a little. How would it be tomorrow? Or the day after that? It didn't help that she was pleasant to look at.

But he couldn't have her. He'd never be able to have her, or any other female. Little by little, she would undermine his resolve, make him want to live... but there was no sense in living for something that would never be. So he needed to get rid of her. Make her want to leave.

_Strike a killing blow, and your enemy will fall._

It should be a simple matter, he decided. If his gut told him right, she _should_ hate him. He had no idea why she wasn't trying to kill him. He needed to remind her why she _should_.

"Ain't lookin' at you... cause you're pretty," he rasped hoarsely. Knowing what was about to come out of his mouth caused him to wince and grimace. If she didn't hate him after this, he knew he'd hate himself enough for the both of them. His face a rictus of pain, he continued, "I can see why... that other Uruk... fucked you. I would've done it too. I would've... killed him to get to you... so I could fuck you myself."

The color drained from Sunni's face and she began to tremble. She sucked in a breath and couldn't seem to let it out. Clutching her throat, she struggled to stand and backed away from him. "Excuse me," she gasped, and fled the hall.

Kalus squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. Tears slid down his face. He'd never told a worse lie, even if there was some small truth to it. She would have caught his eye if he'd seen her in a raid. But he wasn't that Uruk anymore. Not that it mattered. Not for any of them.


	41. One Smackdown After Another

Mog returned to the worksite, his heart light, a strut in his step. He'd been trying to avoid Hilda, only to find that being in her presence was like a soothing balm. It was comforting to know that, aside from the need for mating, there were other things she had to offer that he strongly desired.

She was someone he could laugh with. The way her eyes twinkled with humor filled him to the top. Maybe he couldn't get thoughts of mounting her out of his head, but at least it wasn't _all_ he was about. His mind kept going back to Rukh and Romana, and how she lay atop the Uruk, cleaved to and wrapped about his body as though she wished never to be parted from him... as though she were a part of him...

He indulged a brief imagining of being similarly embraced by Hilda.

Shivering pleasantly, Mog's grin broadened. A harsh laugh startled him from his thoughts. Glancing up, he saw one of the Dunlendings watching him, a malicious sneer on his face. The Uruk curled his lip and took a step in another direction. This one hadn't taken his eyes off Mog since he came out here to work. He either didn't know that his staring was provocative, and among Orcs would be a challenge to a fight, or he didn't care. Because he was a Dunlending fresh from their master's service, Mog assumed the latter.

"Look at you, cur," the Man snarled, hopping down from the partially built wall and standing challengingly close to the Uruk. His fierce dark eyes stopped Mog in his tracks. "Sniffing around their women like nobody knows what you're after."

"Fuck off," Mog snapped in a low, growling tone. The overseers weren't far away; he suspected this man was trying to take the piss, and he wasn't about to let it come to blows. Mog feared that any show of aggression would lead to harsh treatment of his fellows. Swallowing his pride, he started to leave.

"I give you advice," the man said, and Mog halted, pricking his ears. "Fuck your brothers, like you did in Isengard. They lie weak in the keep; they won't fight you. Won't know you're there. Then you will not need the women."

Seething, Mog slowly turned around to glare at the man. He was quivering with rage he hadn't expected to feel; they _had_ done what he suggested. What choice had they? But this filthy Dunlending spoke as though what they'd done to each other for relief was a foul thing. Maybe it was, to Men. Maybe it was to Orcs as well. How was he to know? At the moment, who was he to care? Mog wasn't inclined to debate the past.

"What about you, eh?" he snarled. "All of a sudden you're on their side? Protecting their females? When you lot taught us how to rape them, how to tear them to pieces, how to piss and shit in their gutted corpses? Seems real fucking nice of you, lookin' out for'em like they're your own."

The Dunlending shrugged, unfazed by Mog's words. "Their king pardoned us. We are allies now."

"Just like that," Mog growled.

"Aye," the man nodded. "Like that." He snapped his fingers under Mog's nose, startling the Uruk and making him jerk back a little. "Maybe we wait. Maybe we come, live in Rohan. Maybe one day... there be more of us than of them." He shrugged again. "Maybe we take back what's ours."

Mog snorted. "Right. Maybe I tell Erkenbrand you lot're plottin' against the king, eh?"

"What proof?" the man scoffed. "You are _Orc_. We are Men. Orcs lie. They deceive. Cannot be trusted." Shaking his head, he said, "We wait. Our time is not today, and it is not tomorrow. It will come when it will come."

It was true; Men would never believe an Orc's word over another Man's. Growling sullenly, Mog turned once more to leave, but the insistent Dunlending addressed him again.

"You keep your dick out of the women, understand?" he snapped. "They don't want Orc dick. Had plenty; no stomach for it." Then he grunted with apparent amusement. "You look like boy wooing girl. Think you can make woman blind? Even blind, she is _woman_. They talk; always talk. Want to know what a man knows, what a man feels. What can fierce Uruk tell woman? 'I am Uruk. I murder your men. I rape your women. Kiss me.'" The man snorted with laughter, pleased with his joke.

"You keep to your own," the man continued, mirth shaking his shoulders. "Uruk has nothing to give woman. _Men_ give woman what she wants. Maybe we take the women when we take the land, eh? They took _ours_." His face clouded with hatred for a brief moment. "Dunland don't forget a wrong. This was _our_ land. We gave to your master what we could not afford to lose. We gave all we owned for a promise to take back our home. He failed. _You_ failed," he snarled, curling his lip.

With a great effort, his face smoothed. "Dunland look ahead, for now. King _Forgoil_ has pardoned us. We are... friends, for now. King did not pardon Uruk-hai; you _have_ no friends. There will not be a time for Uruk. Your time is done."

Looking Mog up and down with disgust, he snarled, "No spoiling the women, understand? They will be ours when it is our time. We will kill anything you make with them. For the women you took, we kill what you make." He grimaced hatefully and drew his finger across his throat.

Chuckling coldly, the man left Mog standing there in the shadow of the wall, stunned and trembling.

* * *

Sunni rushed from the hall. She trembled from head to toe, and could barely hold herself together.

She thought nobody knew, that nobody could tell. She'd endeavored to say nothing, imply nothing, hint at _nothing_. Not to anyone here, ever since she arrived a few years ago with the survivors of her village. _They_ did not know either.

Did she bear a mark only an Orc could see?

Reaching the empty corridor, she slowed to a walk, holding her stomach with one hand, the other at her mouth. The urge to vomit was strong; she barely held it back.

She began to pace, going over the things she'd said to the Orc over the past two days. Had she said something? Had he seen, somehow, a blemish or mark she failed to conceal? She hadn't thought she bore any, but she was looking with a Man's eyes, not an Orc's.

Though she willed herself not to think of it, Kalus's face swam to the forefront of her thoughts, and she realized his expression had not matched his words.

He hadn't leered at her when he said those horrible things. He wasn't looking at her at all, in fact; he was staring at the ceiling. His voice was halting and pained, as though he knew he spoke a grievous untruth. Even his face was contorted with an agonizing unwillingness to continue. She paused and stood still, calming herself.

She recalled that Heric had said many hurtful things to her and his wife, for he hated being seen in his condition, hated feeling weak and being forced to rely on their aid for even the smallest things. Was this what Kalus was doing? Pushing her away, lest she succeed in thwarting his efforts to end his life? Perhaps he _didn't_ know. Perhaps he merely guessed. Heric, the only one who knew, had taken her secret to his grave. Kalus couldn't possibly know; he wasn't there.

Was he? She shook her head vigorously, trying to reassure herself that no, he couldn't have been. Heric's men left none alive. All paid dearly for the attack on the village. _Kalus wasn't there._

In her distraction, she did not hear or see Maukum's stealthy approach until it was too late. Stepping out of the shadows, he grabbed Sunni about the arms and clamped his hand over her mouth, muffling her startled cry.

Her swift departure from the hall caught Maukum's ever-watchful eye, and he slipped out behind her. Had reason ever found comfortable lodging within the Uruk, he might have thought twice. All that held his attention at the moment was the urgency instilled in him with that first look at the female, and he took his earliest opportunity without thought.

"Gonna make you scream in a minute, lovely," he hissed in her ear, his hot, sour breath washing over her face. She squeezed her eyes shut. Struck with sudden inspiration, he growled, "When you do, remember my name: Burzash. Scream it. Loud as you can. Over and over. Burzash. Cause Burzash's gonna fuck you. Over and over."

He smirked at his new plan, and dragged the struggling woman to the nearest door. Maybe he'd let her live; maybe not. If she did, he figured he'd leave her unconscious, make a quick exit, and she'd remember the name. _You'll be dead by nightfall, you traitorous pig_ , he sneered.

Jerking the door handle, Maukum kicked the storeroom door open and muscled her inside. She was a fighter; he wasn't going to have an easy time of it. All the better. He nudged the door closed with his foot.

Maukum was just contemplating whether to take her from behind first or flip her over, when a strong hand grabbed his arm and spun him. The fist that connected with his mouth knocked a tusk loose and he lost his grip on the female. She slithered out of his arms; the unknown assailant shoved her further away. Maukum heard her cry out as she hit the far wall. The second blow staggered him against a stack of barrels, which teetered precariously.

"The fuck are you doin'?" Burzash barked furiously. Without waiting for an answer, the leader hauled Maukum forward and punched him again.

Struggling to regain his balance, Maukum recovered from his shock quickly. "Whattaya _think_ I'm doin'? You'd do the same with that cunt you been sniffin' round!"

Burzash roared and charged, knocking Maukum back into a free-standing shelf. The whole affair tipped straight over, spilling crates of dry goods and sacks of grain onto the floor. Sunni could barely breathe, and leaned against the wall gasping for air. Her cheek stung; when she touched it, her fingers came away bloody.

Lurching to his feet, Burzash glanced back at the woman, making her flinch. "Go get Erkenbrand. Get'im now. If he don't want blood all over the floor, he needs to come _now_."

Stricken, she ran out of the room.

"You gotta ask _permission_?" Maukum sneered, rubbing his jaw, his feet sliding a little in the pile of debris left from the fallen shelves. "Is that it? You gotta ask the whiteskin for the right? You are a slave already."

"Fuck no, I don't gotta ask _nothin'_!" Burzash snarled, and threw himself at the other Uruk with claws and teeth bared.

* * *

Nearly hysterical and gasping for breath, Sunni ran quickly back toward the hall, a hand pressed to her riotously beating heart. She could not find Erkenbrand, but her eyes fell on Burga, just on her way from some errand, and she sprinted to the lead healer.

Burga took one look at the woman and her eyes widened with shock. Sunni's face bore a bleeding cut and her dress... "Good heavens! Are you all right? What happened?"

"Burzash and Maukum are fighting in the storeroom," Sunni hissed, trying even now to be discreet so near the great hall. "Where is Erkenbrand?"

Questions would only get in the way, Burga decided. "We will find him together," she said firmly, and hurried down the corridor with Sunni.

Erkenbrand was quickly found, and Burga took the lead. "You must come quickly. Burzash and Maukum are fighting. I am not...certain why, but please come." Her eyes darted to Sunni, who didn't meet her gaze.

The Lord of the Westfold blinked, startled. He'd only left the Orc an hour before with an understanding about these things, or so he thought. He was close to becoming angry that his words fell on deaf ears when he noticed Sunni trembling next to Burga.

A few tears mingled with blood from a cut on her cheek. The front of her dress was torn open, revealing her shift. She shook so terribly, it was a wonder she didn't fly apart.

Now his fury mounted for a different reason. It was clearly not an unprovoked attack, but all actions had repercussions. _Teach them something different_. His people had taught them mercy; now he must teach them justice.

It was difficult tempering his own thirst for vengeance in the face of one of his overwrought people, made victim by an Orc's hate. Were she openly weeping, had her shock allowed her to collapse in tears, he would have seen to the slaying of that Orc himself.

Motioning to a pair of nearby guardsmen, Erkenbrand followed Burga and Sunni back to the storeroom. Furious thoughts scattered across his mind; he briefly noted that he would need to see about the lax attitude toward guard duty that allowed such a terrible thing to happen.

The storeroom door was open, a drift of detritus spilling out into the corridor. The sounds coming from within made Erkenbrand think of wargs fighting over the kill as they savaged a downed man in a skirmish, a truly grotesque memory he wished hadn't come to him now. It was fortunate that _these_ sounds were accompanied by what must be half the contents of the storeroom being knocked over, crushed, kicked, or weaponized in some fashion.

The beastlike growls and snarls were a grim reminder that, though the Uruk-hai were some hybrid of Man and Orc, they favored their Orcish side when roused.

"Subdue them only," he instructed his men, then directed them into the fray. He followed in their wake and blinked at the damages to the room.

Everything that had been neatly shelved and stored for future use, all the extra things that tended to gather dust in tucked-away places like this storeroom, were strewn about the floor. Shelving units had been knocked over and flattened; several shelves on the walls were ripped down, their contents lying shattered where they landed. Off in a corner, the two combatants were locked in violent embrace, tearing through one another's flesh with bare claws, each with a bite hold on the other's neck.

And there was black blood all over the room: spattered on the floor, on the walls, on the broken remains of jugs and torn sacks of flour. Even as Erkenbrand watched his men picking their way quickly across the battlefield, Maukum dragged his claws across Burzash's back, leaving four furrows nearly deep enough to loose the leader's guts onto the floor.

Burga could just see around Erkenbrand's shoulder as he stood in the doorway, and felt terrified and sick inside. She had certainly seen Men come to blows before, but never possessed of such natural weaponry as an Orc. It was clear what both Orcs planned for one another, and she trembled fearfully. Holding Sunni close, she felt the young woman shivering just as much.

This was not the place for her, Burga decided, and forced herself to steer Sunni away.

"Come along," she said quickly. "You have suffered a terrible shock." Sunni allowed herself to be led further down the hall, away from the tumultuous scene. The sounds of the guardsmen breaking up the fight dimmed with distance.

"Sit," Burga urged, taking hold of Sunni's hands. They both sat upon a bench. "Calm yourself, now. When you feel able... if you can... tell me..."

"I am... I am fine," Sunni stammered. "I shouldn't have... I should have stayed in the hall..."

"No," Burga insisted firmly. "You have every right to travel these halls. This was not your doing. If anything... it is mine. I was warned, Erkenbrand was warned... My apologies, dear. I am so sorry." Gathering the woman in her arms, Burga rocked Sunni gently, stroking her hair. As calm began to return, Sunni burst into tears. "Ssshh... it's all right now. Erkenbrand will see to Maukum, if Burzash has left anything for him."

"He... he... said...," Sunni gasped, her voice hitching, "he said his name was Burzash. I think... I think he wanted me to believe..."

"Hush now, don't think on it," Burga said gently. "Ease your mind. It is over now." Yet she frowned. Did Maukum think they did not know one Orc from another? They tended their charges closely, ensuring they were well cared for and kept clean. None of them thought of the Orcs as faceless, interchangeable creatures anymore. To imagine that Sunni would be so blind and foolish as to believe two Orcs of dissimilar face, stature, and height were one in the same...

She shook her head. It was Maukum who was the fool, she decided.

Several minutes passed before Sunni had spent her horror in Burga's arms. She slowly sat up straighter and gratefully used the kerchief Burga offered.

"There now," the lead healer said gently. "I want you to have a lie down in your room. Lock the door, if it will help you rest. I'll see to Kalus for the remainder of the day. If you wish to... I can find someone else..."

"No," Sunni said tightly, dabbing at her eyes. "He... said something... hurtful to me, but... perhaps he... did not mean it..."

"What is this?" Burga asked, her brow furrowing. "Did he insult you?"

Fearing exposure of her past if she revealed anything, Sunni swallowed hard. "Yes, and I do not wish to repeat his words, if you don't mind. My cousin used to do the same." Forcing a smile, she added, "He wishes me to leave him to die. I will not be so easily thwarted."

"You are admirably strong," Burga murmured in wonder. "But I insist you rest, at least. If you feel _any_ discomfort about returning to your duties, I will find another, I promise."

"I am all right," Sunni said bravely. "He did not... succeed. I am... blessed."

"Quite so," Burga agreed. "It is fortunate Burzash was there. I shall have to thank him... and sew him, I've no doubt." She chuckled, but Sunni sensed no humor in the healer. "I did not realize, I suppose... their claws..." She winced and shuddered.

"They can be quite terrifying," Sunni said quietly. "Quite... painful." She slowly raised her hand to her cheek. "I am marked," she murmured, her chin trembling.

"Not at all," Burga insisted. "It is not deep; you won't have much of a scar at all." Forcing herself to look at Sunni's torn dress, she plucked at the frayed edges. "I am so sorry, Sunngifu. So very sorry."

Sunni took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I am...," she began to say, when Burga rose abruptly.

"My lord," Burga said tightly. Her eyes darted from Erkenbrand's grim face to the stern guard, then to Burzash between them, and her eyes widened.

The Orc was breathing heavily, his head slightly bowed. His left ear had nearly been bitten off; there was too much blood to tell for certain. Below his ear, his neck was torn and ragged from Maukum's teeth. Across Burzash's throat was a gash that still seeped, soaking his ripped shirt. The shirt itself was split diagonally, revealing another set of deep slices from his foe's claws.

He wore his and his opponent's blood like a second skin. Burzash was so covered in it that he seemed ready to collapse from the loss of so much. He did not meet her eyes, but she could see that he shook slightly as though chilled.

"Oh my," she breathed, raising a hand to her mouth.

"Briefly, Burzash," Erkenbrand warned, his voice betraying his fury, barely held in check. The Orc nodded, then awkwardly dropped to one knee before Sunni. She recoiled only slightly.

"Sorry," Burzash gasped. "You all right?" He forced himself to look up at her.

"I... I am... yes," she finally stammered, nodding quickly. "I am fine."

"Wanted to kill him for you," the Orc continued in a low voice as he struggled to speak. "I'm sorry I didn't manage it. We... we don't wanna do that no more."

"Perhaps... you don't," Sunni said quietly. "Some of you do."

"Just Maukum," Burzash insisted. "I ain't heard nobody else sayin' the shit he does."

"You haven't listened," she found herself saying, and immediately regretted it. _He speaks from his pain, not from his heart_ , she admonished herself. _He was not there._

Narrowing his eyes, Burzash growled, "Kalus say somethin' to you?"

She quickly shook her head. "It was nothing."

The Orc did not appear mollified. Grunting with disbelief, he snarled, "He said somethin', and you ran off. Is that about right?"

"It is not his fault...," she whispered.

"The fuck it ain't," Burzash snapped. "Been meanin' to have a chat with that little shit..."

"You'll do no such thing," Burga insisted. "Your wounds need tending. I will see to you myself. There is an empty room just down the hall. Go on, now. Lie down and I will fetch my things."

Blinking at the healer's determined face, Burzash wasn't sure how to respond. "What?"

"Take him to the room three doors down," she told the guard. "Be quick about it."

Glancing around uncertainly, Burzash rose stiffly and left with the guard.

Burga turned to Erkenbrand, fearful of what he might say. The stormy expression on his face told her he was on the verge of an explosion.

"Sunngifu," he said tightly, trying in vain to soften his tone, "my apologies. I confess I did not think the beast likely to act so soon. After speaking with Burzash this morning, I resolved to increase the watch on Maukum. Please understand... I found myself agreeing with Romana that we must teach these Orcs a better way. We would not condemn a man without just cause; I wanted to show the Orcs that slaying one they simply suspect of one day committing a wrong... It cannot be allowed; not for us, and not for them. I regret now that I did not take the warnings seriously enough." Sighing, he bowed his head for a moment. "You should not have had to be attacked to make me see my mistake."

"You will not punish them all, will you?" Burga asked fearfully. "You promised Burzash you would not."

Erkenbrand's brow arched. "How do you know what I promised him?"

Burga blushed hotly. "Forgive me," she breathed sheepishly. "I overheard..."

"Indeed," the Lord of the Westfold said wryly. "No, I will not punish the lot of them, though I am sorely tempted." Turning to Sunni, he said, "You say the one called Kalus made some offensive remark?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Sunni replied, "I do not wish to repeat his words. Suffice to say, I was terribly upset and... left the hall so I might think more clearly."

"And that is when Maukum...?" Erkenbrand ventured awkwardly.

"Yes," Sunni nodded, her breath quickening with remembered panic.

"That is all I need to know," Erkenbrand said soothingly. "I trust Eadburga has relieved you of your duties indefinitely?"

"I have, my lord," Burga acknowledged.

"I expect you to rest," he reminded her, awkwardly patting Sunni's knee.

"I will," she assured him.

"Very good," he said. "Now, I must see to the other's hurts. It would seem that, though Maukum is stronger than Burzash, he fights for less reason."

"What shall we say happened?" Burga asked.

Erkenbrand hesitated a moment, then sighed. "Say only that Sunni has taken ill. I do not want a panic. If Burzash has not lied, the other Orcs do not follow this one's lead, but I'd rather not chance it. The guards have taken him to a cell. I will speak with the beast myself when I am less angry." An ironic half smile crossed his face. "And so the first of them is now in chains. I hope he is the last."

* * *

Burzash sat on the side of the narrow bed in the empty room, elbows resting on his knees. Now that he was still, and calm was beginning to return, he felt pain. His head tilted to the side, as though cringing would lessen the pain in his ear. He'd been bitten in a scuffle many times; why did it hurt more now than it ever did then? Grimacing, he figured his master's voice hid that from him as well. There was so much he could see now that was hidden from him before.

He heard footsteps coming and shook himself. To his annoyance, it was not Burga who passed the doorway and skidded to a halt.

"Holy shit, Burzash!"

Groaning with disappointment, his shoulders sagged. Romana rushed into the room and dropped to her knees in front of Burzash. She looked him over in helpless shock.

"Something tells me Foshân wasn't around," she breathed. "What the hell happened? And please tell me Maukum got worse."

The Uruk leader growled low. "Piece of shit... attacked one of the healers."

"Oh shit," Romana gasped, covering her mouth. "Is she all right?"

"Yeah, she's fine," he nodded. "Didn't get far. Stupid bastard took her to the storeroom I was in."

"Lucky for her." Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she said, "Does Erkenbrand know?"

Burzash nodded again. "Talkin' to her now. I, uh... apologized. For all of us. In case... you know... she thinks we're all..." Shrugging lamely, he ground to a halt.

Romana's eyes scanned the damages he sustained. "You're a mess, Burzash. You didn't tell them to shove their medical care up their asses, did you? Because you are in serious need of a sewing kit and a stiff drink right about now."

Grunting a humorless laugh, he said, "No. Burga's comin'. She wanted to see to Sunni; make sure she's..."

"Wait, Kalus's Sunni?" Romana said incredulously.

"Aye," he nodded "Stupid Kalus ran her off, and Maukum jumped her. Soon as Burga's done fixin' this shit up," he snarled, gesturing impatiently at his wounds, "I'm gonna give that boy an earful."

"What did he do?" she probed curiously. Burzash shrugged.

"I don't know, but I'm gonna find out. Leave his ass to me, all right?" he warned.

"Of course," Romana nodded. "He's your problem. Um... do I dare ask where Maukum is?"

"In a cell," Burzash growled. "Likely got... chains on. Don't know if they'll even feed him, much less sew him up. I, uh... left a mess of my own behind." Wincing sheepishly, he added, "Kind of made a mess of the storeroom, too."

"Well, it would be incredibly ironic if he was put on short rations, wouldn't it?" Romana smirked. "You know, I can't muster any sympathy for him right now. I'm too pissed. That dumbass just keeps proving over and over again how big a dumbass he is." Shaking her head, worry creasing her brow, she added, "Part of me wants to tell Sunni it was only _that one_ , and you're not all like that. The other part just wants to hold her and cry and agree with any accusation she makes if it'll make her feel better to say it." Glancing up at Burzash, she smiled a little. "You too, huh?"

He nodded wordlessly, a pained expression on his face. Quite suddenly, he became alert and focused, swiveling his eyes to the doorway. Romana was startled; he went from downtrodden to fully alert in a split second. What the...?

"I will see to you now," Eadburga said as she entered, a basket of bandages and rags in one hand, and a bucket of water in the other. "Romana! I am terribly sorry about Khûriip. If there is anything I can do...," she cried as she set her burdens down by the bed.

"Thank you," Romana replied, rising to her feet. "I've made sure he isn't... carted off to be burned or something. Is Sunni all right?"

Burga nodded. "She is strong. Far stronger than I imagined. I sent her to lie down. I think when Gunda has recovered, I will have her look after Kalus for awhile." Shaking her head incredulously, she added, "Sunni still wishes to work with him. I confess, it would be difficult for me..." As though just realizing he was there, Burga glanced at Burzash and her cheeks flushed guiltily. Burzash bowed his head and said nothing.

At a loss how to deal with the weird elephant that just appeared in the room, Romana decided retreat was a good plan. "You be a good patient and don't be a pain in her ass, all right?"

Burzash rolled his eyes and glared at her. Romana gave him a half smile and an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "I think I'll just go see Erkenbrand. Make sure everything _else_ is all right." Giving the Uruk a parting squeeze, she left the room, nodding to Burga as she went.

As Burga approached, Burzash looked away with a pained grimace. The last person in the world he needed touching his bare hide right now was Burga. Being near her already put him in an uncomfortable state; he dared not wonder what feeling her hands on his flesh would do.

"All right now, you may remove your shirt," Burga said briskly as she seated herself at his side. She lay a basket of things on her lap and began rummaging the contents as she spoke. "I've not been called upon to tend one of your kind before, I confess. I think it would be best if I saw to the cuts on your back first, then you may lie down for the rest."

Though her tone was businesslike and polite, Burzash could tell something had changed. Her scent told him many things about her; usually, it captured his attention and roused his lust. Right now, however, there was a repellent sort of flavor to it. Not a fetid smell, but the sort of scent that urged distance. A commanding sort of scent that seemed to tell him she was nervous and perhaps a little afraid.

He knew the fear scent; this was not pure fear, but closer to uncertainty. He had a hard time defining exactly what he was smelling, but his gut feeling was that he should be cautious and restrained. Calm, even. Ease her tension by releasing his own.

How the fuck was he supposed to manage that when he was wound so tightly he could blow apart at any moment?

"Burzash?"

Blinking, he jerked his head up and looked at her, startled. "What?"

"I asked if that hurt," Burga said, nodding toward his back. Frowning, he tried to figure out what she might have done to cause him pain, but apart from an annoying pricking sensation in his skin, he felt nothing.

Shrugging, he replied, "No. Just feels like an insect is havin' at me."

"That amazes me," Burga murmured as she continued sewing one of the long cuts Maukum left with his claws. "A Man would be demanding strong ale with such a wound. Your... skin is rather... thick, I suppose?"

"Aye," he nodded quietly, clenching his fists. The light play of her fingers over his scarred back, something he shouldn't be able to feel so acutely, was wreaking havoc with his senses. He closed his eyes tightly, ground his jaw, and dug his claws into the bedding beneath him. He trembled with the effort to keep his breathing normal.

All he managed to convey to Burga was affirmation of her belief that he could barely stand to be in her presence. Casting about helplessly, she tried to think of something to say; anything to ease the tension he was feeling.

"I want to thank you," she finally said, "for protecting Sunni."

He nodded jerkily. "Glad I was there. Don't know what Erkenbrand'll get outta that pile of shit. Talkin' won't change him. Better off dead; better for all of us."

"You said that Romana showed you a different way," Burga pointed out. "Perhaps... we may convince Maukum..."

"How?" he grunted, half turning to look at her from the corner of his eye. "He wants to keep doin' that shit 'cause he _liked_ it, all right?" Facing forward again, he growled, "You ain't gonna talk him outta nothin', if all the things Romana said didn't change him a week ago."

Burga's lip trembled with the urge to ask, but she fought it. There were things she should not want to know about Burzash. It was sufficient to know he had raped; hadn't the Dunlendings done the same? She did not need to know more. She begged herself not to ask, and focused on her sewing.

It was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

"Did _you_ like it?" she said quietly, wincing in anticipation of his answer and cursing herself for even asking.

Burzash couldn't form a reply for a long time. It was not in his, or any other Uruk's, nature to lie, but telling her the truth would do irreparable harm. Maybe not to his mating prospects with her, which were non-existent, but to their ability to work together for the good of his folk.

"Burga," he said evenly, "I don't think you wanna know that. Probably best if you don't."

"Apologies," she said quickly. "It was a rude question to ask."

An awkward silence reigned as she finished the last cut. Laying a clean linen down for him to lie upon, she said, "Your front, now. Lie down, please."

Burzash eased himself flat, his freshly stitched injuries resting on the linen, and a groan escaped him. It felt good to lie down; he wished sleep would take him, and spare him the continued bombardment.

"Let me have a look at that ear," Burga murmured, turning his head. He tried to focus on the pain as she wiped the blood off the side of his head, tried to send a message to his cock informing it that now was a very bad time for it to call attention to itself.

To no avail; the hardening he experienced when her fingers first set to work on his back was in full force, with no retreat in the battle plan. He could only hope the woman wouldn't notice. Though how she could miss his tented breeches, he had no idea.

Burga was accustomed to reactions of a similar nature from injured Men, and would normally have dismissed or ignored it as natural and unavoidable. Her hands _were_ touching his body rather intimately as she cleaned his many wounds. What brought blushes to her cheeks was her inability to effectively remind her fingers that Burzash was an _Orc_ ; they should not be taking such an interest in the texture of his skin. One hand should refrain from taking its sweet time drawing the needle through so the other could rest upon his chest for longer than was strictly necessary.

Lying still, Burzash tried to retain control. He clutched the bedding with renewed vigor, his knuckles paling with the effort. As she repaired the damage to his ear, he willed himself to think about the strange sound of the needle work up against it, not the fact that a female he desired was touching it.

He hadn't known how sensitive his ears were. Maybe her fingers held a needle, but they brushed lightly along the ridge as she drew the thread. Were females always this fucking slow about _everything_? He was suffering more from her affect on him than the injuries she treated!

"I apologize, Burzash," she said quietly, her voice pained. He looked up at her with surprise.

"What for?"

She seemed to be having difficulty speaking, and made a few false starts before she said anything more. "I... understand your... dislike. I will try to hurry."

"My dislike? What about?" he frowned.

Forcing a smile, she replied, "You do not hide it well. I know I offend you. I am sorry..."

Burzash shook his head sharply, and Burga jerked back lest her needle prick him in the eye. "You don't offend me," he assured her.

Blinking with confusion, she said awkwardly, "I... I thought... the way you act... I assumed..."

Stiffening, he said cautiously, "Uh... what do you mean?"

"Well... you clench your fists as though you must... restrain the urge to strike me, and you grit your teeth as though you are biting back harsh words," she began awkwardly, her confusion mounting. If not signs of hatred, what else _could_ they be?

Burzash sat up abruptly, startling her. Hunched over, he kept his face averted. Panic was setting in; she didn't miss much, that was certain. What else had she seen? Struggling to swallow for a moment, he tried to think, but nothing was coming. No ready excuse or flippant explanation came to mind.

If she knew what he _really_ thought of her, he'd be sharing a cell with Maukum.

"Burzash?" she prompted. His rapid breathing was beginning to make her nervous.

He drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "It ain't... cause I don't want you near," he said tightly. "Let's just... leave it at that."

Burga didn't know quite what to say. His expression was stoney, and he wouldn't look at her. He quivered all over. Though his words were likely intended to dismiss her fears, his body continued to imply just the opposite.

* * *

No sooner had Burga left him to attend to some errand or other, than Burzash was stomping purposefully to Kalus's side. The entire affair with Maukum had gone virtually unnoticed in the hall; the Uruk appeared to be sleeping peacefully.

Not for long. Burzash dropped to one knee next to Kalus and swatted the side of his head none too gently.

"Oi," he growled. "What the fuck did you say to Sunni?"

Startled from his dozing, Kalus flared up indignantly. "Ain't none of your concern," he snapped.

"Not my concern," the leader repeated sarcastically. " _Look at me_ , and say that again."

As Kalus scanned the other Uruk's face, he noted bandages and fresh stitches, and frowned. "Whuh...?" he started to say, but Burzash didn't give him a chance to continue.

"Whatever the fuck you said upset her," he snarled. "Made her run off. So I'm thinking, if you hadn't opened your _big fucking mouth_ , she wouldn't've. Then maybe she wouldn't've left the hall. She wouldn't've been alone in the corridor, and Maukum wouldn't've got her."

Kalus's eyes widened and he struggled to sit up. He was only able to prop himself up on his elbows. "Maukum?"

"Yeah," Burzash growled. "Dragged her in a storeroom. Was gonna rape her. If I hadn't been in there, he would've done it. With no one to help her," he added pointedly. His face contorted with barely suppressed fury. "Way I see it, it's your fuckin' fault. If you hadn't opened your mouth. You wanna die so bad... make everyone get the fuck away from you... And you don't care who you hurt. Long as you get what _you_ want, it don't matter who goes down along the way." He spat in Kalus's face, making the Uruk recoil in shock. "You ain't no different from our master. No different at all."

"I don't _wanna_ live," Kalus whimpered, trying to edge away. "Why don't you all fuckin' understand that? I don't wanna. Just let me die."

" _No_ ," Burzash barked harshly. "That's too easy. You ain't gettin' the easy way out. _You fix it_. I don't care what you gotta say, what you gotta do. You fix it."

"How am I supposed to?" Kalus snarled defensively. "Maukum needs killin' and I can't do it."

"Who's fault's that, eh?" Burzash taunted, punching Kalus in the chest. Weak from starvation, the Uruk was easily flattened, though his leader hadn't put nearly the amount of force behind the blow that he wanted to. "The whiteskins locked him up. Put him in chains, I expect. I gave as good as I got, but _you_ should've done it. She's your healer; _you owe her_."

Swallowing hard, Kalus ventured uncertainly, "She... she all right?"

"Sure, now you care," Burzash growled sarcastically. "All of a sudden, you give a shit." Fighting to calm himself, he said in a low voice, "Yeah. She's all right. Tore her dress and cut her face, but that's it. If I hadn't been there... he probably wouldn't've left her alive."

The full weight of what happened struck Kalus all at once, and he felt sick to his stomach. He closed his eyes and tried not to think of all the times he'd done what Maukum tried to do, or the inevitable result. Now the victim was Sunni; he hadn't realized...

"I didn't want nothin' like that to happen to her," he said hoarsely. "She's bein' kind to me. She... she don't deserve that."

"You're fuckin' right, she don't," Burzash snapped. "You're lucky Erkenbrand ain't havin' us all slaughtered right where we lay because of this. 'Cause if he did, I'd use my last breath to curse your ass to the void."

Burzash took several breaths to bring himself back under control. It was satisfying to see Kalus looking so ashamed; the little bastard needed to think of someone else for once.

Kalus's expression turned nauseous. "Burzash, Sunni's being kind to me and she's got no _reason_. I can tell from the way she looked at me. She was tellin' me some story about her village gettin' raided. I think she was done by one of us. I don't know why she's doin' this for me." His voice began to shake. "She oughta be killin' me. I wish she would."

"So that's what you told her, huh?" Burzash snarled, his temper flaring anew. "You made some dig at her bein'..." He halted and glanced around to make sure nobody was listening in, then lowered his voice. "You piece of shit. You are worthless, Kalus. Absolutely fuckin' worthless."

"I ain't..."

"You are," the leader barked. "You wanna be worth somethin', you better get your ass back in shape, and you fix what you broke. _That is what we are here to do_ ," he snarled forcefully. " _Fix_... what we broke."

"Wouldn't us dying 'fix' it?" Kalus retorted. Burzash threatened to back hand the weaker Uruk, but restrained himself. He was somewhat satisfied by Kalus's flinch.

"No," he snapped instead. "We gotta rebuild what we tore down. Gotta serve who we hurt. Till we all drop dead. We owe it. You ain't gettin' outta the debt. And you start with Sunni. Beg her on your _fuckin' knees_ , soon as you're able to get up on them."

"If I... keep livin'," Kalus asked unsteadily, "what do I get?"

"Whattayou mean, whattayou get?" Burzash said incredulously. "You get _nothin'_. What the fuck do you think you deserve? After all we've done, we don't deserve nothin'. We don't deserve nothin' these people are givin' us _now_. Not a bit of it. You get that thought outta your head. We don't deserve nothin', and that's what we're gonna get. Get busy. You give back _everything_ you took, starting with Sunni."

"But," Kalus sobbed, "I gave everything to our master. I got nothin' left."

Faltering in the face of the Uruk's despair, Burzash growled quietly, "They don't like sayin' it, but these whiteskins are our masters now. We live because they let us, all right? You understand that?"

"Yeah," the stricken Uruk nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and felt hot tears roll down his face. "Burzash," he whispered, his voice shaking hard, "I'm... sss-so... ss-so huh-hungry." Then he lost his grip entirely and covered his face with his thin hands.

Burzash nodded quickly, feeling terribly uncomfortable. "Yeah, I know," he said. "I'll get you something." The Uruk leader rose swiftly and went to hunt down someone who might know where he could get food for Kalus.

As he searched, the quiet hall was disrupted by a hoarse roar followed by a startled gasp. A sleeper had awoken.


	42. Shock and Dismay

Moving like she had a purpose, Romana sprinted across the great hall, Rukh trotting behind her. She practically skidded to a halt, landing on her knees at the sleeper's bedside. Except he wasn't sleeping anymore.

Snarling with rage, he had the healer in a panic-empowered grip, clutching the front of her dress. He'd somehow launched himself into a sitting position, and his face was threateningly close to hers as he roared at her. The terrified woman couldn't back away and was in tears as she pried desperately at his fingers, trying to free herself.

" _Who the fuck are you? Where am I?_ " the Uruk bellowed.

"Jesus," Romana breathed as she grabbed the Uruk's arm. She tried to keep her voice calm though her gut clenched. This was the one she and Rukh had rescued. While she was thrilled to see him so... alive, the poor healer was in a state. "Let go of her. Come on. Just let go."

"Who are you?" he barked, pushing the woman away from him and rounding on Romana. The healer lost her balance and nearly fell across the sleeper on the pallet next to his. Romana frowned sternly and grabbed him by the ears. He was so startled by her fearless expression and the unexpectedly painful hold, he froze and went silent.

" _Listen to me_ ," she growled. "Calm... the fuck... down, all right? You're in the Hornburg..."

" _What_?" he roared, and tried to wrestle free. Romana gritted her teeth and twisted both his ears. It wasn't much of a struggle; he was operating on a temporary flood of adrenaline, but his body was too wasted to sustain any exertion. His blows were feeble, and he was too weak to dislodge her. Still, he was in panic mode, his eyes darting wildly, his breath coming in gasps.

"Dammit, Rukh, let him see you!" Romana snapped over her shoulder.

"Stop fighting," Rukh growled as he stepped around Romana to sit in front of the frightened healer. "You are safe here."

The Uruk's eyes rolled toward Rukh and his brow furrowed with confusion.

"Who're you?" he gasped. He focused his attention on Rukh, perhaps willing the Uruk to tell him he still dreamed.

"I am Rukhtorû," the larger Uruk told him. "You are in the Hornburg... Helm's Deep."

"Where... the army went," the sleeper breathed, beginning to steady. Romana slowly released her hold on his ears.

Rukh nodded. "Yes. I was with the army. There was a battle..."

A hopeful smile threatened to appear on the Uruk's face as he gasped, "So... we won? We took the fortress?"

Exchanging an uncomfortable look with Romana, Rukh found he couldn't speak. He bowed his head and didn't answer.

"Well... not... really," Romana supplied awkwardly. The Uruk's eyes swung toward her and he scowled.

"Why ain't you dead?" His gaze flicked to the healer, and she flinched. "And you? What the fuck's goin' on?"

"About that," Romana continued. "The Uruk-hai didn't win. The battle was lost. Do you understand? The battle was _lost._ "

He blinked at her, uncomprehending. "Course we won. All of us went, except them that got done in at the Fords. There was thousands of us. How... how could we lose?"

"Don't tell him what you told me, Romana," Rukh advised, a slight smile on his face. She shot him an impatient glance.

"That's probably too complicated to go into now," she said evasively. "The important thing is that you're awake now. You've been out of it for over two weeks, and..."

" _Two fuckin' weeks?_ " the Uruk roared, shock and panic overwhelming him again. His eyes darted around the hall again, but this time they noticed the pallets on either side, the rows of still Uruk bodies beyond their little huddle. At the side of each one knelt a whiteskin female, many of whom were giving him sympathetic looks. A few were smiling with relief. "What happened?" he whispered, barely able to breathe.

Sighing, Romana took a hold of his limp hand and said as gently as she could, "There was a flood in Isengard. The details aren't important. You were washed out of the valley on the Isen, along with a lot of dead bodies and debris. Rukh and I found you and pulled you out. You have been unconscious for two weeks, during which time, we took you with us to join with the other survivors you see around you. It was my suggestion that we come here, to the Hornburg, so the injured and sick could be treated. We've been here for almost two days. This lady has been taking care of you since we arrived, making sure you're kept warm, feeding you broth to keep your strength up, keeping you cleaned up when... Well, anyway, that's the gist."

"Calm yourself," Rukh repeated when the sleeper began to quiver once more.

"Please," Romana urged. "I know this is a shock. Probably not what you were expecting..."

"Why the fuck've yuh got his stink on yuh?" the Uruk snapped, brow furrowed and eyes scanning the female before him. His nostrils quivered.

Stricken, Romana swallowed hard and hastened to say, "You're mistaken. It's just him being near; I can see why you'd be confused..."

He might have challenged her lie, but his face contorted with agony, and he groaned. "Ah fuck, I'm so hungry," he hissed. "Can't think..."

"I will fetch something," the healer replied quickly, and all but scampered away.

Checking to make sure the nearby healers were back at work, Romana grabbed a fistful of the Uruk's hair and yanked him close. "Don't say a god damn word about what you smell, all right?" she hissed in an undertone. "Lives hang in the balance, dammit. Keep your mouth _shut_."

Rukh leaned over and snarled quietly, "If these whiteskins find out, we will all be dead."

The Uruk's eyes darted back and forth between them, barely grasping the implications of their words. His breath began to quicken. "So... you're... what... I..."

"Shush," Romana said a little less harshly. She released her grip. "Look, it's a long damn story I can't go into right now, okay? Just... don't say anything. I got you into this keep by playing on these peoples' sympathies; if anyone found out about me and Rukh..." Bowing her head, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She raised pleading eyes to the confused Uruk. "Don't say anything, _please_."

He nodded awkwardly, clearly still bewildered and not altogether sure what he wasn't supposed to talk about.

"What is your name?" Romana asked. "Do you remember?"

Giving her a baffled look, he snorted, "Course I remember. I'm Aanash. Why wouldn't I remember that?"

"You've been kind of out of sorts," she replied ruefully. "With the condition you were in, and what these others are suffering, the longer you're out of it, the higher the chance that you won't come out of it... all in one piece, so to speak."

Rukh darted a look at her. "They might become like Foshân?"

Shrugging, she nodded. "The sooner they wake, the less likely, but yes. That's a possibility."

"Who's that?" Aanash asked, growing alarmed.

"He is a berserker," Rukh explained, and Aanash grimaced.

"That lot, eh?" he said in a subdued tone. "Surprised yuh found one alive. They don't stay that way long." Then he frowned. "Wait. What's he doin' _here_?"

Romana smiled wanly. "Helping to rebuild the Deeping Wall. He's out there with Mog and a load of really pissed Dunlendings." Seeing the Uruk's growing confusion, she waved him down. "There's plenty of time to bring you up to speed on what's been happening. The most important thing is that you're awake, you're okay, and your healer is on her way back with some hearty broth for you..."

"Don't want no fuckin' _broth_ ," Aanash snarled. "Want _meat_. You tell that little cunt to bring me some fuckin' meat or I'll take a bite outta her _face_."

" _Hey_!" Romana barked, slapping the Uruk. "Show some god damned respect. She has been at your side _night and day_ since you got here, forcing broth and medicine down your ungrateful throat so you wouldn't _die_. For Christ's sake, she cleaned you up every time you shit yourself, you little bastard. Don't you _dare_ act like an asshole. There are _plenty_ of cells down in the basement you can stay in if you do. Capish?"

Aanash swallowed. Glancing past Romana's shoulder, he saw the healer coming, a small wooden bowl in her hands. She walked with care among the other prone Uruks, yet she seemed unafraid.

"We prisoners, then?" he breathed as he watched her.

"That has not been decided," Rukh replied uncomfortably. "Burzash is our leader, and he has spoken with Erkenbrand, but I have not heard..."

"Erkenbrand?" Aanash interrupted, fixing his intense gaze on the other Uruk.

"You know him?" Romana asked as the healer knelt at Aanash's side.

"Yeah," he replied. "Heard his name a bit, down at the Fords when we was fightin'." His eyes widened. "He here or somethin'?"

"He is the Lord of the Westfold," the healer ventured quietly. "Second in voice to the King. A most respected man."

"So try not to piss him off, okay?" Romana said sarcastically.

"I have brought you something," the young woman whispered, her bravery when treating him all but lost now that her charge was awake and had shown how violent he could be. She slowly raised the bowl so he could see it. "It will give you strength."

Curling his lip with a growl, Aanash struck her hand with the back of his fist, knocking the steaming bowl aside. Hot broth splashed on the floor, narrowly missing the sleeper nearby. The healer recoiled and gasped with fear. Romana nearly delivered another slap, but was not as fast as Rukh. Grabbing the Uruk by the ear, Rukh yanked Aanash's head around, forcing him to look into his furious face.

"Are you stupid?" Rukh snarled. "Do you not understand what Romana has said? If you cause trouble, if you harm _anyone_ here, your life is forfeit, and ours along with you. If you wish to die, throw yourself off the battlements, but _do not take us with you_."

"Rukh," Romana said calmly, laying a hand on his arm. He glanced at her, and slowly released the shocked Aanash. Sighing, she turned to the sleeper. "I know this isn't easy. You're used to being an asshole and doing asshole things. That time is _over_." Turning to the trembling healer, she asked, "What's your name?"

Shaken, the woman tore her terrified eyes away from her patient and replied, "I am Eanfled."

"Eanfled, this is Aanash," Romana said, gesturing at the thin Uruk. "Aanash, Eanfled. You two ought to get to know each other, since you need her to take care of you. A good start would be an apology."

"A what?" Aanash said, startled.

"That's when you say you're sorry for being an asshat," Romana explained patiently and only a little sarcastically.

"I know what the fuck it is," he snapped. But he ducked his head, chagrined. He found he couldn't look Eanfled in the eyes, and muttered, "Sorry."

"Very good," Romana said approvingly. "Now, I'm going to leave you to it, Eanfled. If he acts up, feel free to call Burzash over. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to knock him back into alignment." Glancing at Aanash, she smirked, "I'm told he made a hell of a mess of Maukum earlier. Just a warning."

Aanash scowled. "Maukum," he growled. "That little shit's still around?"

Arching her brow, Romana chuckled. "What are you, the Kevin Bacon of Middle Earth?" Laughing at his bewildered look, she said, "Maukum is with us, yes. He's sulking in the dungeon I mentioned because being an asshole was too much fun for him. Alas that not a soul here agreed with him." Romana sighed and shook her head. "Do yourself a favor and act like Rukh or Burzash, okay? Hell, Mog'll do in a pinch. Don't follow in Maukum's footsteps. That'll lead you to an early grave."

* * *

Mog's brow remained furrowed most of the afternoon as he thought about the Dunlending's words. He didn't fear for his own offspring so much as for Rukh's, for he had no confidence Elfhild could be even half as mad as Romana. He wasn't a fool, though; Rukh's mating with Romana was bound to whelp her sooner or later. Then what? This bastard would come along and butcher the little one as soon as it came out? Should he warn Rukh about it? After all, this bare handful was the last of their kind; every drop of their blood was a rare and precious thing, and any young they managed by some miracle to produce should be protected as the richest treasure.

Were he in Isengard and a similar threat was leveled, the 'traditional' response of a threatened Uruk was to kill the menace before it had a chance to come at him. But one look about him reminded Mog that this wasn't Isengard. Even though they'd been enemies only a few weeks before, the Rohirrim and the Dunlendings would join forces against the common foe. He wouldn't stand a chance.

Still, he seethed in impotent fury. He and his fellows were _trying_ to fix things. Now that they could see the damages they'd wrought, and _understand_ them, they were doing the best they could to make amends. It was completely unfair that a _pushdug_ bastard Dunlending should undermine their efforts for no good reason.

At the end of the day, Mog accompanied Foshân back to the hall. While physically he felt that he'd done a good day's work and he could find satisfaction with that, inside his thoughts roiled like a boiling stew. His fists kept clenching as he walked to his pallet, and the scowl couldn't leave his face. Thudding heavily onto his bedding, he folded his legs and stared sullenly at nothing.

It took several minutes for him to realize some things were different.

He noticed first that there was a small cluster about one of the sleepers. Narrowing his eyes, he could see between Rukh and Romana that the sleeping Uruk had apparently woken up. He was even hungrily slurping up a bowl of something hot, for steam curled around his face. Mog recognized the Uruk as the one rescued after he was, and recalled the diligence with which Romana cared for him. She'd insisted he wasn't beyond saving, and apparently she was right. In spite of how the Dunlending's words had left him, Mog felt a profound sense of relief. They weren't all done for, then.

To his surprise, Burzash was at Kalus's side, and the latter was actually _eating_. He was practically shoveling stew into his mouth with both hands, he was so desperate. That came as a shock. Where was Kalus's healer? What the fuck happened while Mog was at the wall?

His eyes wandered about, taking in the relative calm about the hall, and his eyes fell on Elfhild. She seemed to be having a bit of trouble with her charge, and Eadburga, the lead healer Burzash was taken with, was at her side. He couldn't make out words, but Fulgirgûg was shaking his head, his expression _pleading_. He was clutching Elfhild by the arm... the healer was wincing...

Mog was off his pallet and a few strides into his furious approach before he realized he'd moved. Without asking questions, he dropped to a squat at Fulgirgûg's side and his hands shot out. One grabbed the Uruk by the hair, the other by the wrist. His grip ground bones on the latter.

"Oi! Let'er go, yuh filth!" Mog barked. Fulgirgûg winced and obeyed.

"Mog!" Elfhild cried with surprise.

"He hurt yuh?" the Uruk growled, turning his head slightly but keeping his malevolent gaze on Fulgirgûg.

"No, I'm fine," she replied shakily, yet she rubbed her arm. She would likely bruise, he'd held her so tightly. "Please release him; I'm all right."

Mog slowly let go of Fulgirgûg, and realized the Uruk was trying not to weep. Blinking, Mog watched Fulgirgûg roll onto his side and curl into a ball, squeezing his eyes shut. He tucked his injured wrist into his chest and whimpered.

"Come with me," Elfhild said quietly, laying a hand briefly on Mog's shoulder. She stood and made her way to the far end of the hall.

"It would be best if he was left alone for a short time," Eadburga agreed. To Mog's amazement, the lead healer briefly stroked Fulgirgûg's hair before she, too, rose and left.

Bewildered, Mog went to join Elfhild. His thoughts were such a confused jumble, he was distracted from his usual reaction to her nearness.

"What was that all about?" he asked, and Elfhild sighed.

"His leg is too damaged to save," she replied sadly. "There is nothing we can do. Perhaps... had we seen to him sooner..." Shrugging, she shook her head. "If he is to live, we must... remove it."

"Oh," Mog nodded. "Yeah. Ain't surprised he... Yeah."

"He seems convinced you would all... turn upon him," Hilda said carefully, searching Mog's face. "That such a loss would render him useless. He said... he would be marked for death."

Mog nodded again, furrowing his brow. "Yeah. Master... didn't want no... broken soldiers." Chuckling mirthlessly, he added, "'S'why if we couldn't... walk away from a battle, we was just... left there. If any of us got bunged up in the forge pits and whatnot, them _snaga_ didn't waste no time... finishin' us off."

"It is no wonder he fears," Hilda replied. "I will need to speak with him again; among our people, such a loss does not condemn a man. My father knew a man with the same injury. He used to come visit us quite often." Chuckling as her thoughts drifted, she went on, "It is strange, but I barely remember that he was missing a leg from the knee down. He'd fashioned a false one of wood, to replace it. Though his gait was awkward, he could walk quite swiftly, and without crutches. What I _do_ remember of him quite vividly is that he carved such wondrous things."

Mog tilted his head to the side. "He wasn't killed by your folk?"

"Of course not!" she said, yet she smiled. "Perhaps our people have more appreciation for one another than yours. Or at least, more than your master did." Smiling sheepishly, she added, "I have seen examples from you of how... how much you... I confess, I watched you with Foshân for a while before you came to speak with me earlier. It warmed my heart to see how patient you were with him. I'd been led to believe... It was a surprise, let us say that."

Shrugging and ducking his head, Mog replied, "He just don't know shit about buildin' and such. Wouldn't help nothin' if... if he went around, fuckin' things up cause he don't know."

Her smile filled him with a comforting warmth as she said, "I would have expected cruel mockery, not patient guidance. You impressed me."

"Wish I'd impressed them Dunlendings," he found himself growling, the Man's words coming once more to mind. He'd wanted to enjoy more blissful moments in Hilda's presence, yet the Dunlending's hateful words invaded once more. For that alone, he scowled and hissed, " _Bastard_."

Elfhild eyed him curiously. "You spoke with one of them?" Then she smiled. "Of course you must have. You were allies not so long ago. I am sure there was much abuse heaped upon us for your shared plight." At his surprised look, she added, "My father was a curious man. He knew some Dunlending tradesmen, and made a special effort to understand them. Their history is... sad, and I am afraid we have been the cause of much of it."

While Mog wasn't about to tell her what was specifically discussed, he found himself intrigued by her words. At least he could tell her _one_ thing. "Maybe we was allies, but that don't make us friends. They hate us; ain't sure why."

"Did you ask him?" Hilda probed, her brows arched. "I have found, and perhaps it is my father's influence, that when we ask, we learn, and then we _know_. Imagine my relief in _this_ : we have ever been enemies, your folk and mine, yet you and I converse so amiably. This tells me that you do not hate me, and perhaps never truly _have_."

"Probably never did, no," Mog said thoughtfully. "See, we was just kinda _told_ to hate you. So... it'd be easier to... to hurt you." His voice faltered and he looked away. Hilda touched his arm lightly.

"Hate that is not deep is easily discarded," she said. "If you have had harsh words with this Dunlending man, it is because their hate runs quite deep. Our songs and tales do not tell of what they suffered; only that we fought glorious battles and earned the land we now possess by our bravery and goodness." A pained smile curved her lips, yet did not reach her eyes. "The tradesmen never considered my father their friend, and perhaps never would have even if he'd lived a thousand years, ever trying to win their friendship. He learned what caused their hate, and was so aggrieved by... well, frankly, the _lies_ we have lived under for generations, that he sought to do at least a little to show he was... different, I suppose. That he bore no grudge."

Sighing, her smile faded. "Our farm provided cured leather in exchange for their cheese. I recall the taste of it even now. When my father learned of what our forefathers had done to the Dunlendings, he began slipping a few extra pieces into the exchange. At yuletide, he secreted a full set of leather armor, cut to his best guess of the chief trademan's form, in between the layers. Then he made himself forget that he'd done it." She laughed a little. "Of course, I was a child and most curious about what the man would think of my father's gift. The only acknowledgement I ever saw was a nod between them. No words were spoken."

"So... what'd you lot do to'em?" Mog asked. "To make'em hate yuh?"

Her smile broadened. "That is a question you must ask him yourself, when you are asking what _your_ people did to them. A Dunlending has reason to hate us; perhaps your master gave them reason to hate you."

* * *

Mog's thoughts churned over the Dunlending's words as well as Elfhild's for most of the night. He couldn't focus on anything else. Listening to the snores of his fellows, hearing the soft footfalls of healers tending them even late in the night, he found no room to wonder about anything but what he'd heard.

He kept lingering over the accusations, that he and his kind failed in their mission. That the Dunlendings paid dearly and counted on the Uruk-hai to succeed, only to be gravely disappointed in the end. Was that enough to hate them? Perhaps it depended upon _what_ was paid.

_We gave to your master what we could not afford to lose._

Mog had no idea what this meant, and decided he would ask that first.

Weary from a long night in deep thought, Mog rose the following morning and dutifully reported to the worksite once more, Foshân at his side. He scanned the partially rebuilt wall, looking for the Dunlending man. In amongst a trio of them hauling a scraps barrel loaded with stone chips to the dumpsite, the man who spoke with Mog before shuffled awkwardly under the weight. The Uruk steeled his resolve and hoped his skin was tough enough; this wasn't likely to be a friendly conversation, any more than the previous talk had been.

Sidling up next to the man at the water barrel, Mog patiently waited for the Dunlending to pour refreshing water over his sweating head and turn. The Man's expression was hostile.

"You want a fight now?" he snarled. "My words cut, and you want to cut back, eh?"

Mog shook his head. "Just wanna talk, is all."

The Dunlending's brow arched. "Talk?" he scoffed. "I have said all I will say." Turning, he started to leave.

"What'd you give to our Master?" Mog asked, and the Man paused. "You said it was somethin' you couldn't lose. What was it?"

He slowly turned and fixed a hateful glare at Mog. "What was it _not_?" he snapped. "That be a shorter list."

"Look, I don't _know_. None of us know," the Uruk snarled, barely keeping his temper in check. "What did you give him?"

Smirking, the Dunlending turned back. "Freedom," he growled. "We make ourselves his slaves. He told us if we give him all _now_ , he will deliver Rohan to us. We were born here; this land is our mother, our father. He promised us a return to her bosom, and we vowed to pay any price. _Any_ price."

The Man's breath hissed as he seethed. "Now we be slaves of Rohan. We have lost _all_. We come to our mother, and she does not know us. We come to our father, and he does not remember us." He shook his head. "You think we mutilate them for sport. You think we spoil their women for pleasure. You who are Orc-made know nothing of _hate_.

"The strawheads saw the land of our fathers, the land that birthed us, and they coveted. They wanted. They _took_. The cursed _forgoil_ came like a storm; they slew our sons, so they would not rise as warriors against them. They slew our men so we could not fight them. They raped our women, so they would bear _forgoil_ children. They took our elders, our loremen, the keepers of our past, and they _burned_ them, so all that told us who we are would be gone from the world."

Pausing, the Dunlending struggled to catch his breath. Mog had no words; though the tale felt as though it had been told many times, and was obviously held close to this Man's heart, it was one the Uruk had not heard.

"Then came your _master_ ," the Dunlending spat, "with honeyed words and silver tongue. Told us what we wanted to hear. 'I will see that you are avenged,' he said. 'Give me your women, so I may breed an army,' he told us. Only a few. A small price to pay for rich reward long desired. They would make proud sons of Dunland. Mighty and strong. Bring glory to their mothers... our wives, our daughters..."

The Man's eyes closed as though he couldn't bear the sight of Mog any longer, and he grimaced with revulsion. "These... proud sons... these Uruk-hai... You came to our villages. You took our sons to fight. You took our daughters to fuck. _None_ came back." He fixed the stricken Uruk with a hate-filled glare. " _None_. If we told you no, if we said 'no more,' all in the village died by the hands of our _proud_ _sons_."

"I'm... um... I'm sorry," Mog breathed awkwardly. The Dunlending furrowed his brow. "We were told... we had to... make amends... do what was right for... for the Rohirrim. Cause we... hurt'em so... so bad. Didn't know... we should be... doin' the same... for you. I'm sorry."

"Is this what you think?" the Man growled. "You go to the Rohirrim, and you say 'I am sorry,' and they embrace you? You say to the Dunlending, 'I am sorry,' and we embrace you? All wrongs forgiven? Is this what you think?"

"I dunno," the Uruk shrugged, his tone pleading. "Don't expect nothin', I guess. I just... I feel it, and... I gotta say it."

"And you foolishly think that we want to hear it?" Scowling, the Dunlending man snorted dismissively and turned away. "Take your apology to the strawheads," he said over his shoulder as he walked away. "They do not remember wrongs as we do."


	43. How to Tame Your Uruk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Taking a step back (a little) in time to what was happening while Mog chatted with the Dunlending.

_She waited in their bed as she'd always done. Her naked body bore the light scent of lavender; Cearl's favorite. It was an arrangement they'd made whenever he left to do battle in the King's name: she would be ready for his return. This is how he'd asked her to ready herself for him, so this is how she waited. It was a game they both played._

_Unlike the last time she waited, the door to their bedchamber opened, and a dark silhouette appeared there. She bit her lip in eager anticipation: Cearl's body was warm from battle, damp with sweat, powerful and untamed. Whenever he returned alive, his lust was high, his handling rough. A man who comes close to death seeks to feel alive, he'd told her._

_She needed no such excuses. It was her Cearl; any way he wished to have her, she gave of herself, for his absence urged her own desire to fever pitch, anticipating his return and the pleasure he would bring._

_He crossed the room slowly, almost as a predator stalking his prey. She peeled back the blanket, laying herself bare. She raised her arms and grasped the headboard. She spread her legs. Her panting breaths matched his in the darkness._

_"Ravish me, my love," she invited him wantonly._

_Without words, he climbed upon the bed and approached her on hands and knees. The darkness hid his face; years of absence had robbed her of that memory, and masked him now. She closed her eyes, a lusty smile upon her lips. His hands touched her knees and slowly slid up her inner thighs. Quivering with anticipation, she urged her legs further apart._

_"Yes," she breathed. "At last."_

_She felt his hot breath upon her breast a heartbeat before his lips touched her taut nipple. The light kiss swiftly became hungry consumption as his mouth opened wide to draw as much of her breast in as he could. His fingers found her opening, and delved deep._

_Her body shuddered with pleasure and she squirmed as he idly stroked her with his fingers, his thumb circling her most delicate places. Unable to speak, she begged by moaning and rolling her hips. She could feel his smile as he suckled her breast; she could feel the heat and hardness of his manhood against her leg._

_Cearl's attentions tapered off, and he rose above her on his hands. Watching her feverish face, he pushed into her body. He liked to have her this way: spread before him, vulnerable, begging for him. She enjoyed being had this way: feigning helplessness, yet unbound. Restrained by choice, not fetters. A recipient, yet demanding her due. He stroked slowly, watching her, enjoying the sight of his pleased wife. All was as it had always been._

_Until the moment when it changed. He leaned down over her, then he lowered himself to lie atop her body, their chests pressed. He curled his arms beneath her shoulders, holding her close. His hips never stopped their slow rhythm, but now his lips were kissing her face._

_"Embrace me," he whispered huskily in her ear._

_Obediently if slightly uncertain, she let go her customary hold on the headboard, and wrapped her arms about him. Her hands lay flat upon his back, and began to roam. To explore. Scars she hadn't realized her husband bore appeared beneath her hands. Bandages she'd not seen were revealed by her questing fingers. And his skin..._

_"You are not my husband," she said quietly. The truth of it seemed immaterial, the revelation of little importance. Her body remained aroused and open, content to accept this stranger's attentions. There was no anxious worry, as though his deceit were somehow expected, as though it were understood from the moment he opened the door._

_"No," Burzash breathed, softly kissing her cheek, "I ain't."_

Burga bolted upright in her bed, heaving great breaths and shaking as though a cold wind had struck her. She clutched her heart and stared into the shadows to be certain she was alone, that there were no strange figures lying in wait...

The only sound in the room was her gasping breaths. No one was there. Gradually, her fluttering heart slowed, and she calmed.

"What has become of me?" she whispered anxiously. Seeking answers, she timidly prodded her memory of the dream, only to retreat in guilty fear.

 _I knew it was him all along_ , she realized. _Béma's blood, how could I...?_

But simply recalling the feel of the Orc upon her, _within_ her, caused a renewed eruption of rippling sensations throughout her body. Falling weakly back, she sobbed as her fingers sought to relieve the ache of desire.

"Forgive me, Cearl," she breathed even as she quivered with shameful pleasure.

* * *

As Mog departed the hall in search of the Dunlending man, Romana lay awake in her room, clutching her stuffed bear to her chest and weeping bitterly. She'd spent a sleepless night alone, for Maukum's actions caused Erkenbrand to heighten security in the halls. Wherever she looked, there was a guard on patrol or just hovering, waiting for someone to step out of line. Rukh couldn't come to her at night, even just to talk.

She could tell herself all she wanted that she didn't _need_ him at night; she could talk to him in the hall, or even take a walk on the walls or in the courtyard. There was at least some measure of recognition among the Rohirrim that she and Rukh knew each other and had started out on a long journey together before coming back. They had somewhat excusable comaraderie that needn't be watched so closely as the merest hint of wandering from the others.

But she _did_ need him. To feel his arms around her, his naked body cleaved to hers on a bed too narrow to comfortably hold them. His low rumbling breaths as he slept in her arms, his head resting upon her breast while she gently stroked his coarse hair. Murmured words between lovers in the small hours of the night.

Yes, she most certainly needed him. She needed to explore him inside and out, to laugh at his jokes and cry with him when he saddened. She needed to tell him of her adventures and listen to his. She needed to kiss him from head to toe. She needed to simply wake up in the morning and share an affectionate smile with the one she loved.

Romana told herself with false conviction that in her own world, it wouldn't be so hard as this to be with Rukh. People would assume he was some wacky cosplayer who really liked his makeup, or his girlfriend had a weird fetish he obligingly indulged. They wouldn't stop him going into her house. They wouldn't arrest him on the street just for looking different. They wouldn't pile on and murder him just because of what he was.

For a moment, she rebelliously indulged a wish to take him home with her. _Home_ home, not some substitute here in Middle Earth. She imagined explaining him to her dad, and having one of those heart-to-hearts with her mom. Reassuring them both that yes, though he's an Orc, he's a real sweetheart and wouldn't hurt a fly. _He's never hurt me, mom. He_ would _never hurt me, dad. He's completely devoted to me. You don't have anything to worry about. Not a thing._

She deftly pushed away the reality that a creature as strange as Rukh would likely be collared and 'studied' as soon as his presence in her world was discovered. His life would be as much one spent on the run and in hiding as it would likely be here. At least _here_ , there were others like him. He wasn't completely alone. And if she managed things well enough with Erkenbrand, and then Éomer after the war, he and his people might stand a chance of not having to retreat to a deep hole somewhere just to live.

But if things didn't work out that way, if her appeal to Éomer fell on deaf ears and the Uruk-hai were chased out or worse, slaughtered to the last, Romana would stand with them. With firm resolve, she knew she would embrace and kiss her lover even as the swords came at them, even as they were driven into her.

Because she loved him, she would shield him from death until it claimed her. Because she cared for and respected the others now, she would shield them as well. Someone had to.

* * *

"I confess I've not looked in on him since he was locked up," Erkenbrand sighed wearily. His night had been restless with worry and indecision for the first time in many a year.

"Like as not, that blighter's dead, then," Hunwald replied with a shrug. "Seen what them bastards can do with their claws. You had a couple of them fighting in a small room? Pssh." The old horseman shook his head with a chuckle. "Lucky there was enough to put chains on after."

"I could not bear to be in his presence. His actions... I was rather furious and feared I might act thoughtlessly," he growled. "See to his wounds as best you can, old friend. And if you can, speak with him. I trust your good sense might... sway him to a more... acceptable state of mind."

The old man arched his bushy, white eyebrows. Erkenbrand called this man 'old' when he was a lad being trained to ride. His father likely considered the gruff, ornery codger 'old' when _he_ was young.

"Now boy, what sort of sense do you think I could give him, eh?" Hunwald snorted. "I hate Orcs, the filthy beasts. I use pieces of them to train the horses with, and that's all. I got nothing to say to an Orc." Chuckling again, he shook his head. "Got little enough to say to _Men_ , come to that. Nah, you just leave me with the horses and that'll suit me fine."

"You have an admirable way with them, that is true," Erkenbrand said respectfully. "None are better. You also possess enough skill to sew and bind their wounds, and that is chiefly what I require. I do not trust Maukum with the women healers any longer. Will you at least try to speak with him while you work? Learn if there is any... spark of goodness in him that we may nurture?"

The old man stared at Erkenbrand. "You're mad. 'Goodness'?" Laughing hard, he said, "I'll grant you this: the rest of them haven't made asses of themselves. _Yet_. So if you want me to go hunting for that spark, I'll do it for you. Because you always were my favorite lad." Winking, he chuckled heartily. "' _Goodness_ ,'" he muttered, and snorted with amusement.

The Lord of the Westfold drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Were I to indulge my deepest desires, I would throttle the bastard with my bare hands. I would hang him _in the hall_ , where his fellows might see what continuing their master's goals affords them in the Riddermark. At the very least, it would give me great satisfaction to flog him thoroughly."

"Still oughta consider that," Hunwald advised sternly. "Shouldn't let this slide, even if you don't want to hang him."

Erkenbrand nodded. "I believe you are right. What happened here cannot be kept secret for long; already there are whispers. If I do not make some example of him, the other Orcs might... I will speak with their leader. I promised I would confer with him with regards to punishments." He chuckled humorlessly. "Oddly, I believe Burzash would help me manage it. He was quite furious. I almost thought I looked upon the face he wears to battle against _us_. As long as _he_ despises what was done, and urges his fellows to likewise despise it, there may yet be hope for his kind."

Hunwald narrowed his eyes and frowned. "Hope? For them? What are they needing 'hope' for?"

"I imagine it is difficult to accept," Erkenbrand replied. "In the past, when we have encountered Orcs, they have ever been one thing to us: an enemy. One that must be destroyed lest it cover the land with its contagion. Foul beasts with no redeemable qualities. I strongly believed this, until Romana brought them before me. I held on to this falsehood until I spoke with Burzash and learned that he is no beast, but an intelligent, compassionate leader of his folk." Smiling a little at his old mentor's skeptical look, he shook his head. "I know you do not believe a word of it, and will not until you see it for yourself. I am afraid you won't see it in Maukum."

"But you'll have me look for it anyway."

"Yes. Those of his fellows who possess much of their former strength are showing... calmness. A willingness to give aid in reparation for their past misdeeds against my people. I cannot simply ignore this, no matter what foulness lurks in that cell. It may be that he is no more foul than the rest of them used to be; he simply needs... additional prodding in the right direction."

Hunwald nodded slowly. "I think I understand. Like a horse that hasn't been broken. Sometimes you have to handle him different from the others, else he never will break to a lead." Frowning once more, he eyed the man before him. "Why do you want to, eh? That lot isn't enough to be a threat. They aren't in any kind of condition to fight if you decide to make that bastard swing for it. What are you thinking about, son?"

"I am thinking," Erkenbrand said carefully, "that we have not seen the last of the great Orcs of Isengard. If this handful was able to survive, it is possible others managed it as well. I would rather we made peace with them, if such a thing is possible. My people have endured enough bloodshed in the last several years; I would spare them more."

"You could spare them by killing any that come out of hiding," the old man reasoned. Erkenbrand shook his head.

"It is no longer so simple as that," he said quietly. "I have spoken with their leader, and seen the sort of... persons they are. A mighty berserker is among their ranks; do you know how he was made to charge into battle without protection? He is a simpleton. Romana equates his... mental state to that of a five-year-old child." Furrowing his brow, he went on, "Can you imagine this? A man with no understanding of what he is doing, being put to such use? And the one called Mog has insisted upon helping rebuild the Deeping Wall. None asked it of him. I've been told that Rukhtorû guards Romana because he is _honor bound_ to protect her, for she saved his life. _Honor_ , Walder. Among Orcs.

"Some of them are making an attempt," he continued, and Hunwald was no longer sure it was _him_ Erkenbrand was trying to convince. "Those that are able to do so are doing what they can to mend what was damaged, including their relations with us. Burzash speaks of me as... their new 'master'," he sighed, shaking his head. "I do not like this designation, but if it keeps them in line, I will endure it. And I will... accept the responsibility that goes with it." Looking away uncomfortably, he added, "Knowing the sort of... people they truly are, or can be, it would seem... monstrous of us to forget that. We would be no better than they were. I would rather not fall as they rise."

"So," Hunwald muttered, "you'll look the other way on this one, eh?"

"Of course not," Erkenbrand bristled. "He has committed a crime, and he shall be punished. Any others so inclined must understand that such behavior is not acceptable. They are no longer in Isengard; Saruman no longer pulls their strings. It is the King's Law that holds them now."

The old horseman nodded. "King's Law wouldn't hang a man for it. Make him damn sorry he did it, but wouldn't hang him."

"Will you try, then?" the Lord of the Westfold asked. "I am frankly too disgusted to delve into his thoughts directly. Had you seen Miss Sunngifu..."

"Heard about it," Hunwald nodded, his expression hardening. "You're right; word's getting around. Can't say I'll be any more sympathetic myself, but I'll talk to him." Shaking his head, he added, "Don't know why you think what I have to say'll make any difference, though. I'm better with beasts than Men."

Erkenbrand laid his hand upon the stooped man's shoulder. "He has shown himself little better than a beast. I can think of no one better to tame him."

A twinkle in his eye, Hunwald grinned. "Can I use a whip?"

Pursing his lips to hide his smile, Erkenbrand shook his head. "Words only. I would like to know anything he tells you. I will discuss his just punishment with Burzash." Grimacing as though his next words were difficult to push past his lips, he added, "Treat him as though he were a... a 'noble' beast requiring careful handling. As though... he might be of use one day, and should not be treated... inappropriately."

Hunwald nodded, grinning. "So it's a lie I'll be telling myself, is that it?"

"For now," his former student conceded. "Hopefully not forever."

* * *

The rattling of the keys outside his cell woke Maukum. Growling under his breath, he struggled to rise. Blood loss and a night spent trembling and shivering with tormented thoughts hadn't made him any calmer. As he tried to sit up, he realized he'd forgotten that the guards who tossed him into the cell the day before had come in later and chained him to the bench on which he lay.

He could only just sit up; the manacles on his wrists kept him from raising his arms more than a few inches. His legs had even less freedom before the short chains grew taught. Instincts caused his breath to quicken and his muscles to tense; he glowered at the door as it opened.

An old man with a wooden box entered. Behind him, a guard brought in two buckets of water, then left to fetch two more. The man busied himself unconcernedly by the wall, rummaging through his box and making grunting sounds as he found the items he needed and laid them out on a cloth he laid upon the floor. The guard brought another pair of buckets. Maukum turned his attention to the old man, curious in spite of himself.

After a few moments, the man stood on his bowed legs and faced Maukum. A strange double-bladed device was in his hand.

"I've been told your name is Maukum," he said, approaching the restrained Orc. "Erkenbrand sent me to see to you. Name's Hunwald. Most folks call me Walder."

"The fuck do you want with me?" Maukum snarled, eying the blades suspiciously.

Hunwald glanced at the scissors and smiled a little. "Just relieving you of your rags. That other Orc tore you up proper. If I'm gonna sew you, I'd like to see what I'm about, so I'm washing you up. Got a problem with that?"

"What if I do?"

Shrugging, the man planted his knee on the bench and grabbed a fistful of Maukum's ruined shirt, making the Orc recoil. "Don't matter a bit." With quick movements, he cut through the fabric and tossed the pieces to the side. Then he went after Maukum's trousers.

"Whatcha need me naked for?" he barked, trying to jerk out of the old man's grip. His eyes once more found the shears, and he swallowed hard with sudden dread. Hunwald had handled the most unruly horses in his day; a prissy Orc was no challenge. He backhanded Maukum across the face.

"Just what I said," he replied casually. He yanked the pieces of Maukum's trousers out from under the Orc, unbalancing him and sending him sprawling back on the bench. "There we are. Now we can get somewhere."

Going to the buckets, he took one and returned to the bench just as the furious Orc was struggling to sit back up. Then Hunwald heaved the bucket's contents straight into Maukum's face.

The water wasn't hot, nor was it cold, yet the Orc sputtered and hissed as though it was. He shook his head wildly, and strained at his fetters to free himself. Another bucketful hit him square in the chest, and he howled furiously.

"Shut yer yap," Hunwald said easily as he fetched a third bucket. "I'll wager you haven't seen a washing in a good long while, and I'll not touch that mess on you until it's passably clean." Another wave of lukewarm water struck the Orc.

"That's enough!" Maukum roared, quivering all over in a helpless rage. "I'll kill you! Fucking _kill_ you!"

"Some day, maybe," the old man chuckled. He unloaded two more buckets on the struggling Orc before saying, "Long as you're clean when you do it."

After soaking his patient completely, Hunwald looked him over critically. The blood was washed off now, so he could see the wounds more clearly. Several were alarmingly deep, but nothing he hadn't expected. Many of the horses he tended bore battle scars at least as bad as this. An Orc's claws could tear through flesh with ease, and because they were filthy animals, they often left contagion in the wounds. The old horseman had brought an array of ointments and salves to treat nearly anything the other Orc might have left behind.

"All right then, that's likely as good as it'll get," the man said, nodding with satisfaction. Maukum lay gasping, his anger having spent a good deal of the energy he had left. Yet his fists clenched and he still had the look of one who would store it up for an attack later. _Predictable as horses_ , Hunwald thought with amusement. Like a horse, it seemed an Orc's every thought could be read in its body language, if you knew what to look for.

"Do yourself a favor and be still," Hunwald said as he brought his supplies over. "I got no patience to spare. I might if you were a horse, but you're kind of lacking in that area."

"You... you tend fucking _horses_?" Maukum snarled incredulously.

"That's right," he replied. Shoving the Orc's body sideways a bit at the hip, he settled himself down and pulled out the thick needle and sinew he used to close a horse's wounds. He spoke as he sought to thread the needle with eyes that weren't as strong as they used to be. "Way I hear it, you're a bit of a prick around the ladies. Since all the men who manage the healing went off with the King, that's all we got left round here. So if you can't behave yourself round them, you get me. Ah, there it is." Smiling, he pulled the thread throught he needle's eye and tied it off.

"I didn't figure you'd need a stiff drink or anything," Hunwald continued conversationally. Without warning, he pinched the flesh together on a particularly deep cut and began to sew. Maukum flinched and growled, but didn't cry out. The old man nodded. "That's what I thought. Tough skin on you lot, isn't it? Hardly feel anything. You be still, and it'll go quicker."

Snarling incoherently, Maukum twisted and bucked, dislodging the man's hold on him. Hunwald merely drew back and watched as the Orc tired himself out with his defiance.

"Are you finished?" he asked mildly. "Cuts don't generally sew themselves, or didn't you know that?"

"Fuck you!" Maukum roared again, and renewed his fight against the bonds. The old man sighed and shook his head.

"I expected as much from the likes of you," Hunwald said. "Since you haven't figured it out yet, these chains'll hold a mûmak. Little blighter like yourself doesn't stand a chance of breaking them. So you may as well lay still and let me tend you."

"I ain't giving in to fucking whiteskins!" the Orc barked. "You can't fool me; you're holding off, saving it for when we can't fight back. You'll come at us when we ain't expecting it and kill us all!"

Hunwald raised an eyebrow, truly surprised for the first time. "Well, well now," he said, a slight smile on his face. "Listen to you go on. Seems to me that's the sort of thing one of us might say of you lot." He shook his head and snorted with amusement. "Interesting. So... what were you thinking then, eh? Man who fears getting killed by his enemy doesn't generally try to get their attention by grabbing one of their women. Word to the wise: that's just going to get your ass in trouble."

At the mention of the female, Maukum froze. He'd been distracted by this whiteskin for too long, and forgotten the torturous worry that plagued him through the night. The need, the hunger, the desire... His mouth dampened and sweat began to bead on his forehead. His hands trembled and clenched into fists. Holding his breath for fear of the answer, he peered imploringly at the man, for he was the only one near who could provide one.

"Where is she?"

The old horseman had seen many things in his long life. If he didn't know better, he would swear the Orc was begging for the hard liquor he was addicted to but denied.

"Never you mind about her," he said slowly, his eyes narrowed. "I'll keep on with the sewing, if it's all the same to you."

"No, no, where is she?" Maukum demanded. "I need... I need to smell her. Where is she?"

Frowning, Hunwald decided to humor the Orc, if only to learn what this strange reaction was about. "Why do you need that, eh? Why's that important?"

"I... I dunno," the Orc breathed. He looked close to panicking. "Just... need it. Need to smell her. Just that, please? Gimme somethin' of hers. Her dress, her hair... somethin'. Gotta smell her. Just... for a minute."

 _He's mad as a hare_ , Hunwald mused. "Now you know I can't do that. You just put that lady out of your mind, all right? You showed your hand, and there's no chance of ever getting near her again. Just you relax and let it go."

"I can't," Maukum pleaded. "I saw her, and I needed her. She's _mine._ I can't... I can't stop wanting her."

The Orc looked every bit as though he was out of his mind. This was not simply a common obsession, Hunwald realized. It was also something he had little understanding of. Horses were far less complicated than Men. And apparently less than Orcs, as well.

"You'll have to, you know," he tried again. "This sort of... thing you're... feeling... it won't be borne. You just... forget about it, all right?

Gradually, it sunk in: the whiteskins would keep him from what was his. They would dangle that cunt in front of him and yank it away, then laugh as he groveled for it. But he wouldn't be the only one. He was _damned_ if he'd go down alone.

Maukum's face slowly contorted in a furious sneer. "I ain't the only one done in. Them cunts up there, they've got a load of us sniffin' round'em. Burzash especially is bein' led by the nose. You turn your back on him for a second, and he'll be all over your lead healer. Watch him. You can smell it on him. I promise you, he's a heartbeat away from fucking her blind."


	44. Leadership Conference in the Ballroom

"There, you see?" Leofwen murmured to the sleeping Uruk in her charge. She smoothed a damp cloth over his brow. "Just over there. One of your fellows woke yesterday, and he is already gaining strength." Pursing her lips with equal measures of amusement and disapproval, she added, "He has quite a wicked tongue. I hope you will not be so ill-mannered."

Though she kept her voice gentle and soothing, inside Leofwen was anxious. Improvements were small and difficult to see; his color was gradually darkening, and he swallowed a touch more readily when fed. Once during the night, she saw his lips quiver, as though he were about to say something. Other signs seemed to imply that his strength was returning, and his body had begun to fight against his illness.

It might have been weariness and false hope making her see what wasn't so, but Heresuid beside her, whose patient appeared by his graying hair to be considerably older than any of the others, agreed that Leofwen's charge seemed to be improving.

 _What will he be like when he wakes?_ she wondered as she pulled back the thick layering of blankets to bathe his chest. The brand seemed faded now that his color was darkening, but she could still see the majestic bird rising from the flames. To have such a hopeful mark upon him must surely mean he _would_ awaken.

She hoped he would not be as terrifying as Aanash had been, and still was. Eanfled's hands shook and her eyes often widened with shock; sometimes the Orc's words reached Leofwen's ears, and they were anything but kind. The poor girl was beside herself. At least he hadn't struck her again.

Even as Leofwen finished her patient's washing, Heresuid huffed.

"Come along, dearie," she said. "It's time." She slowly rose on knees just beginning to ache when the weather changed. Smoothing her skirts, the middle-aged woman sighed and headed for the hallway. Leofwen laid out her damp cloths to dry and joined her.

The women conferred each morning, sharing news and progress as well as asking advice. This morning, several were anxious; moreso than they had been when receiving their initial instructions before the Orcs arrived. Leofwen remembered that moment, and those who were unwilling to volunteer for the duty. How their faces took on a mask of horror and they wept and pleaded to be excused. Leofwen's respect for her mentor soared in that moment, when Eadburga embraced each one and assured them that they were not required to make such a sacrifice. They did not have to be in the same hall among those whose like had abused them. Those that could stomach the presence of the Orcs were barely enough to assign one to each, but they were a blessed group: none had directly suffered at the hands of an Orc.

Until now, it seemed. Sunngifu's absence was marked. The suspicious disappearance of the scowling, malevolent Orc from the hall spoke strongly to their nervousness. None were foolish enough to believe the two occurrances were unconnected. It only remained for Burga to enlighten them on the matter.

The first order of business, however, took precedence over gossip. A habit had formed, of hearing the report of each healer before addressing specific concerns. Leofwen only absently listened to their words – no change, beginning to accept solid food, vomiting has lessened, learned of his fate and wept – and let her thoughts wander. Gunda had returned, though she sometimes raised a kerchief to dab her eyes. Leofwen understood: they had each allowed their pity to swell. It was difficult not to, when looking upon a person who had once been strong, now laid low. While it was true the Orcs had done monstrous things with their strength, few showed a desire to carry on such behavior now.

Leofwen was certain to feel her failure as acutely as Gunda clearly did, should her own charge slip through her fingers into death. Even if he didn't have a chance to speak to her first, as Gunda's Orc had done, she would mourn his passing. Perhaps because he couldn't now, and likely wouldn't. She frowned and tried not to think of that possibility. _I will succeed_ , she told herself firmly. _He will waken, and prove his quality one way or another._

"He is most belligerent," Eanfled sighed. Because they shared space in the row of sleepers, Leofwen listened to her neighbor's report. "He has, twice now, clenched his fist to restrain himself from striking me. I cannot give him the meat he wishes: his body will not accept it. I have explained this to him several times, but he will not listen."

"Hmph," Tortgyd snorted, folding her heavy arms over her bosom. An elder healer whose age and experience earned her the respect of every person in the keep, the formidable woman came to Helm's Deep in the company of her folk when they fled before the armies of Isengard. Despite her vast wealth of knowledge virtually guaranteeing her place as lead healer, she neither expected nor demanded it. Eadburga's initial attempt to step aside and defer to her greater wisdom was met with a characteristic snort, a dismissive wave, and assurance that she was too old to run around behind a pack of ninny healers. Point her to an ailing man and she would do her part like anyone else.

She insisted they call her Auntie Torta if they must be formal.

"Yes, Auntie?" Eadburga said respectfully, but also biting the inside of her mouth to keep from smiling.

"Don't be wasting your time on talk," Torta advised. "A firm hand's what's wanted. Like spoiled little boys, they are."

"Have you encountered difficulties from Zofkraat?" Burga asked, frowning with concern.

"Aye," the elder woman replied matter-of-factly. "That little cuss came into my care _on fire_ with fever, the poor lad. Twas a battle I had on my hands, and I fought it all night. By morning, I'd won, and he seemed none the worse for it. He was a bit anxious, being here among us, and him so weak and all. I spoke gentle to him, like one does a spooked horse." She frowned sternly at the tittering among the youngest healers, some of whom had occasionally been spoken 'gently' to themselves. "Then as you know, that poor wretch Khûriip passed and along comes the troublemaker, telling all the Orcs we were after them with poison and not to eat anything. Well, as you can imagine that put Zofkraat off his feed in an instant." Leaning forward indignantly, Torta went on, "The little hooligan bared his teeth and _snarled_ at me when I tried to give him his soup! 'None of this nonsense!' I told him, and handled him on the spot."

"What did you do?" Eanfled asked, her wide-eyed awe barely masking delicious anticipation of the elder healer's reply.

"Why, I rapped him smartly on the nose, as I would a dog who'd done the same," Torta declared. Gazing about the assembly with smug assurance, she sniffily added, "Then by Béma, he ate his lunch."

"While your... tale is encouraging, Auntie Torta, not all of us are as brave as you," Eadburga smiled. "I will speak with Burzash on the matter." It seemed to Leofwen that the mention of the Orcs' leader made Burga uncomfortable, for she swallowed a bit harder than normal and her cheeks flushed. "There may be something he can do," she went on, turning to Eanfled. "You will not have to endure Aanash's poor behavior for long, I am sure. Is he otherwise managing well?"

"Yes, ma'am," Eanfled nodded resignedly. "I do not suppose..." She glanced among her fellow healers somewhat helplessly. "Could you ask him to... see if his... fellows might... use fewer... swear words? At least the truly offensive ones." A few others nodded agreement.

"Perhaps my situation is different," Elfhild said, "but when I am speaking with one of the healthier ones, I barely note it. He uses foul words, it is true, but he does not do so in an abusive manner. It is... simply the way he talks."

"Well, Aanash seeks to do harm with his tongue where he can do naught with his hands," Eanfled replied crossly. "I do not have such a civil Orc as you do."

"I will mention this to Burzash as well," Burga assured her. "There is no reason for Aanash to offend you. Leofwen, have you anything new to report?"

"There is little improvement, but some," Leofwen sighed. "I have found that very hot broth urges his response, and he swallows more readily. He has taken in a great deal of medicine, and his skin is beginning to darken toward... normal, I suppose." Her cheeks hot, she said delicately, "He has... responded... somewhat... when I have washed his... privates. After he has passed water."

Though this news was encouraging, and showed the Orc was approaching a state of awareness, it was nonetheless quite embarrassing. Leofwen glanced sheepishly among her peers and saw a few trying to suppress a sympathetic, or perhaps knowing, smile.

"Yes, well, that is... a good sign," Burga said awkwardly. Shifting her attention away from the blushing Leofwen, she said, "Elfhild, do you believe Fulgirgûg is healthy enough to survive taking his leg? We should not allow it to go on much longer."

"I believe so," the woman nodded. "He was not as grievously ill as the others. It was his leg more than anything that weakened the rest of him. I think he will do well enough."

"Good," Eadburga replied. "We should manage it today, then. I think Burzash should be present, to reassure him..."

"I can't," Elfhild interrupted with embarrassment. Her cheeks darkened a bit. "I apologize, but I haven't felt quite... well. The heat in the hall has been bothersome, and the smells... I do not think I would be of much help, and I wouldn't want to faint in the middle of it."

"Dear, are you all right? You have not been vomiting, have you?"

"No, just... a bit queasy at times. If I eat a little something, it passes, but... I am just unsettled, I suppose." She looked helplessly at the lead healer.

"Very well, you needn't attend," Burga replied worriedly. "But if you feel your symptoms match those of the Orcs, do tell me, won't you? I do not know if their ailment can spread, but I would not want to chance it."

"I will," Elfhild assured her with relief.

"Gunda, would you mind filling in for Hilda? I could use an extra pair of hands."

"Of course," Gunda nodded. "Once I see to it that Kalus has had something to eat, I am at your service."

"Good. Now, if there are no other concerns..."

"There is one," Elfhild said pointedly, her brow furrowed. "What of Sunni? What has become of her, and that Maukum who lurked about? Are the rumors true, that he attacked her and has been locked in a cell?"

Concerned murmuring among the women as they compared snippets of gossip ensued. Burga had to raise her voice to be heard over the tumult.

"Ladies, please!" she cried. "There is nothing to fear. The problem has been dealt with." Looking from one anxious, unconvinced face to another, she sagged with defeat. "What you heard was true. Sunni was... attacked, but Maukum was thwarted. His own leader, Burzash, was on hand and inflicted grievous wounds upon his fellow."

"Yes, I have seen Burzash since," one of the younger healers confirmed. "He is covered with bandages. I wondered if he'd fallen down stairs."

"And I saw him have at Kalus," another pointed out. "Sunni's Orc is skin and bones, and he knocked him straight over."

"Indeed, I was obliged to sew his wounds," Burga nodded. "He gave worse than he received, I assure you. He will not tolerate such behavior of his Orcs. Nor, in Kalus's case, will he suffer any of them being abusive to you. If any of your patients so much as whisper a threat to your person, let me know, or go directly to Burzash if the threat is dire. He is a good... person, and he does not want to see his people carrying on what their master urged them to do."

"If Maukum is in worse condition," Heresuid asked suspiciously, "who among us must tend him?"

"None of you," Burga assured her quickly. "Lord Erkenbrand has engaged Walder in the task."

"Walder?" Elfhild repeated incredulously. "He only knows horses!"

Burga struggled not to laugh. "Erkenbrand felt that such knowledge was sufficient for the likes of Maukum."

As the healers dispersed to their charges and their duties, Leofwen's thoughts wandered. In such a short span of time, she'd become accustomed to attending to her Orc. There was nothing about him she hadn't seen and touched. She could not look at him as a beast or monster now, for he seemed too Manlike in his making. If not for the darker skin, the sharply pointed ears, the claws, and the teeth, he looked nearly like a Dunlending. True, there were other subtleties of feature that bespoke 'Orc' when looking at him, but she had never seen his heavier forehead bunched in anger. She had never seen his admittedly sharp teeth bared, or heard harsh words spoken by him.

While he lay still and distant, barely responsive and unaware, she could not imagine how he could have come from the same place as that vile creature, Maukum.

* * *

It was a struggle for Burga to approach Burzash after the meeting with her healers. Not quite able to meet his gaze, she asked quietly, "Have you a moment?"

"Yeah," the Orc nodded, his brow furrowed with uncertainty. He followed her to the side of the hall where there were no pallets, and afforded them a clear view of the entire room. Both seemed to find their conversation easier when provided with so many other things they could reasonably be looking at besides one another.

"How do you fare, Burzash?" she asked, glancing at the bandage holding his newly-sewn ear in place. "Do your wounds pain you at all?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm all right. I've gotten worse." He half laughed and shrugged, looking at the floor, a support pillar nearby, the nearest row of pallets... anywhere but at Burga.

"I've been informed that our horsemaster is looking after Maukum," she said. "An older man. Erkenbrand doesn't want one of us to be... near him, under the circumstances." Again, Burzash nodded.

"Don't blame him," he said, a hint of a growl forming in his voice. "Fucking bastard." Closing his eyes, he turned his head away.

"It was not your fault," the woman hastened to assure him. "Do not blame yourself."

"Who'm I gonna blame, eh?" Burzash snarled, finally meeting her gaze. His eyes were intensely hostile, yet she felt no threat directed at herself. "Still too... fucking weak to... Should've fuckin' killed him. Out on the plains. Before we even got here. He was talkin' 'bout havin' at Romana. Should've killed him then."

Taking a deep breath, Burga forced herself to touch his arm. "He didn't lay a hand upon her, did he?"

"No," the Orc growled low. "Rukh would've torn him apart." He looked up sharply at Burga, his eyes narrowing. She nodded understanding.

"He owes her his life," she supplied. "I heard you say so. I confess, your words..." Sighing impatiently with herself, she added, "I should not have listened, but I could not help myself. I assure you, I do not normally hide around corners eavesdropping on the private business of others."

Burzash chuckled at her sheepish confession, and she looked up to see how his face wore even so little amusement. Though only one side of his mouth tipped up in a smile, and his head was bowed so that she could not quite see his eyes, he seemed to relax a bit. His forehead was not so lined with anger and frustration for one blissful moment.

"Burzash," she said seriously, "I am glad you didn't. You each have been afforded a chance at redemption. Perhaps Maukum simply needs a firmer hand. Let Erkenbrand try. I confess, I am glad; not that Sunni suffered, but that Maukum did something that demanded action. It may be the saving of his life." Burzash looked her in the eyes, and she felt her heart quicken its already-rapid beating. "I can see in your face that you do not believe he deserves such a chance. Perhaps not. Perhaps this is a foolhardy attempt. But we have time, and so long as Erkenbrand has the will to try..."

The Orcs' leader nodded and lowered his gaze. "Shouldn't complain, I know. I just don't wanna see nobody else get hurt."

"As to that, I have heard complaints of Aanash," Burga said briskly, lest the Orc's presence unravel her control. What began as a hand upon his arm to comfort him had lingered too long, and she hastily ended that contact. _Stop this madness and look at him. What is he? Burga, you fool, he is an Orc! Dismiss your wicked thoughts! There cannot be... it simply cannot be. There is no excuse for this... this... delusion. Stop seeing a desirable Man where an Orc stands!_ Gathering herself, she related Eanfled's words, forcing herself to watch the Orc and woman in question, rather than meet Burzash's gaze.

"He bein' a shit to his healer too?" he growled. By his expression and the balling of his fists, the woman feared he would storm across the hall and violently correct the Orc's behavior without any understanding of the nature of the complaint.

"Burzash, please," she hissed, and found her hand once more seeking his arm. She let it have its way; he clearly needed a reminder to calm himself. _You see? He is without gentleness or restraint. He would never live up to such fanciful dreams as your mind conjures, foolish woman!_ "Listen to me. He has only spoken harshly. I do not know the particulars, only that Eanfled was offended. It may have been his choice of words only, but he sounds... threatening to her ears. Urge him to treat more decently with her; that is all I ask."

The Orc huffed, seething with indignation. "'Harsh words' sent your Sunni outta this hall, right into Maukum's hands. I ain't havin' even _words_ from those bastards. You lot don't deserve it, not a bit of it. If I have to cave in every face in the hall, I'll make sure they know it."

Starting with alarm, Burga said awkwardly, "I... I hope you speak in jest, Burzash. Surely you wouldn't..."

"If they're strong enough to mouth off," the Orc snarled, glaring at her, "they're strong enough for the consequences. Kalus's lucky he was feelin' bad for what he done, or I wouldn't've held back. The shit he said..." Grimacing, he turned his furioius gaze on the sickly Uruk being fed by Gunda. "Oughta take the whip to'im."

"What ever did he say?" she breathed, a hand going to her mouth in shock. She'd always thought of Sunni as a strong-willed person; surely there was very little this Orc could have said to upset her, or bad enough his commander wished to punish him so severely.

"I dunno," Burzash snapped distractedly. "Made some dig at what happened to her, back at her village. Figured it out somehow, and said somethin' about it."

Burga's brow furrowed curiously. "What do you mean, what happened to her?"

Consumed by his fury at Kalus, Burzash failed to notice the woman's bewilderment, or the complete absence of recognition in her face. His eyes were on Kalus, where he considered it safer to look when he was this close to Burga.

"He figured she was raped by one of us," Burzash replied impatiently. "Not likely one'uh these here, but... anyway, he didn't need to be sayin' nothin' about it. Ain't somethin' you talk about; sure as _fuck_ ain't somethin' you dig at someone for." Finally, he glanced at Burga, and he ground to a halt.

By the look on her face, the Orc knew instantly that Sunni's history was not common knowledge. Burga's eyes had widened with shock; her mouth hung open. Burzash snapped his mouth shut on any further words and almost felt himself shrinking, as though he'd said something completely out of line and cowardly retreat was the wisest option.

It took a few moments for Burga to collect herself and speak. "Is this true?" she gasped, barely able to breathe. "I asked all of the ladies if... if they had reason not to... to tend your folk. They did not have to give reasons. Several declined; I demanded no explanation of them. How could I have missed...? Oh, Sunni. Oh my." She turned away from Burzash and sought a bench nearby for support. Sinking down, she stared into space, one hand covering her heart to still its mad thudding. "I had no idea."

Unsure what to do, for he'd made this mistake and ought to see it righted, Burzash awkwardly joined her on the bench, his gaze also directed anywhere but at her or the folk in the hall. His back slumped and he clasped his hands between his knees. "Sorry. Didn't know you... didn't know. Probably ain't true. He probably said... said somethin' along them lines, and... cause... it's fuckin' wrong and offensive and... and shit, she took off so she wouldn't punch him in the nose for it. That's probably how it went. Probably."

"I would never have asked her to see to him, if I'd known," Burga whispered as if he hadn't spoken. "I would not have let her within this hall, if I'd known." Finally looking at the Orc beside her, she saw his pained expression, and felt guilt for throwing such a thing in his face. "I am sorry, Burzash. It must hurt..."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I understand. We probably... all look the same to you. So... one's as good as another if you've been..." He swallowed with difficulty. "We did it to ourselves, and that's... that's the price we gotta pay. Bein' looked at like... we'll do it again... soon as we're able." He winced and bowed his head. "Maukum's bullshit's made that real clear, ain't it?"

"Maukum's actions are his alone," Burga told him firmly. "So are Kalus's. And yours."

Burzash snorted. "Don't know what the fuck I'm doin'. Just... stumblin' around in the dark, fuckin' up at every turn."

"You are their leader, and they follow your example," Burga told him. "Or they will when they are more awake. Believe it or not, you are giving them a good model to follow, by condemning the wicked deeds you once did. You are not... stumbling."

"Got no right to lead," he growled. "I wasn't no _pizdur_ , or a fuckin' _pizbûr_ , come to that. This lot didn't know me before we got washed outta Isengard." A mirthless smile twitched his mouth. "I was just a pisspot _pizurk._ Lowest fuckin' rank in the whole army. The sort that gets all the shit work. First to get hit in a fight, last to get fed in the mess hall. Digs the privvies. Fetches shit. Takes shit. Eats shit."

"Yet you have earned their respect as though you were of higher rank," she reasoned. "What made you take them in hand? If you lacked such authority?"

"Somebody had to," he muttered. "Maukum was... he was gonna just leave'em in the river, beggin'. Just ignore'em. Head off with the ones who could get about on their own, and... and stick it to you lot. _He's_ the _pizbûr_. Would'uh been even more of a shit if he knew he outranked me." Gesturing to the Orcs before them, he went on, "The higher yuh go, the less you see, yuh know? Like... the army's made up of... grunts like me who do the dirty work. We do the killin' and the... other shit. Our _pizgal_ move us around, send us to spots that need... need attention. Then... over the _pizgal_ come the _pizbûr_ , and they don't really... see us no more. They talk to the _pizgal_ and say, 'take your lads over there and support that other _pizb_ _û_ _r_ 's flank.' Go higher, and they see less and less of... what they're sendin' at the walls or... who's dyin' rank by rank..." He shook his head, and his hand dropped to his lap. "Don't see nothin' but how much of the enemy's fallin'. Not how much of us are goin' down. Don't see us at all 'less we fuck up, then we sure got their attention."

Shaking his head, he added, "Maukum never saw the ones under him before, and don't see'em now."

"I had no idea," Burga breathed. "You seem so concerned for them. Perhaps I compared you to Men who hold rank, for they are often – at least in my experience – very aware of the men in their charge. They hope to keep casualties as low as possible, for they know each man has a family."

"Guess that's the difference then, eh?" the Orc said bitterly. "We got nothin'. Just meatsacks with a sword; that's all."

"You... don't have... family? A wife, parents, siblings?"

Burzash's throat closed, as did his eyes. He leaned back against the wall. "Wouldn't know," he said tightly, his tone implying that he didn't want to know, or discuss the topic any further. Burga stilled her curious tongue, and for once it obeyed.

"I'll thank yuh not to say nothin' 'bout... my rank to nobody," he muttered without looking at her. "The kinda shit I pulled... likely get me killed. Yuh don't just... take over like I did. Not without bustin' heads first. Provin' you got the right."

"It was needed," Burga said pointedly. "I shudder to think what might have been had Maukum been left to his own devices. Fewer of your folk would be here now, that is certain."

He shrugged, and opened his eyes to gaze at the timbered ceiling. "Rukh might've seen to him, when he and Romana came around, if he was still there. The rest of us, though... probably be dead in the river like all... all the rest." Bowing his head, he once more shut his eyes to what was left of his folk, wishing he didn't see them – the fodder, the shields, the expendable ones – whether his eyes were open or not.

To his surprise, Burga's hand was suddenly in his. He was so startled by this development, all he could do was stare at it: his black hand engulfing her delicately white one. Fragile as a bird's egg.

"You have shown great strength, Burzash," she said softly, her voice seeming to draw his eyes to hers. Though her expression was encouraging, there was a redness to her cheeks that baffled him. "Of will as well as character. Perhaps your master did not see your value, but I... your folk do. You saved them, just as much as Romana did. You have made good decisions, and they will thrive because of it." Taking a deep breath, she smiled a little, though it seemed strained, and her hand trembled in his. He wasn't sure, but it seemed that she'd done something even she hadn't expected when she took his hand, and now wasn't certain how to gracefully retreat. "I will keep your secret, if that is what you want. But I hope such a thing is of little import, when compared with how well you rose above such a modest status, and the lengths you seem willing to go to for their salvation."

Unsure how to respond to her words, or how to interpret her strange gesture, Burzash simply nodded. Her hand was warm, and felt quite nice. His own was rough and caloused, clawed and gnarled. If he let himself think about it, if he consciously compared their hands, he was certain to pull away and hide his, for they were ugly, brutal things. They had no business touching any part of her, however benignly. Her flesh was for soft hands to caress and explore, not for his. She should have a Man's hands upon her, not an Orc's.

But he could not bring himself to let her go.

"Burzash?"

Startled from his thoughts, the Uruk looked up and saw Erkenbrand standing over them, an inscrutable look on his face. Burzash didn't need to snatch his hand free; Burga was quick off the mark to hide what she'd done. Rising swiftly, she smoothed her skirts and seemed anxious as she collected herself.

"Thank you, Burzash," she said briskly, half turning toward him but not meeting his gaze, "for this talk. If you will see to it that Aanash behaves himself better, it would be appreciated. Oh, could I rely on you when Fulgirgûg's operation must be managed? I believe your presence will... ease the situation."

"Sure," the Orc nodded, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion. "Anything yuh need."

"I will fetch you when the time comes," she nodded shortly. Facing Erkenbrand, she added, "Excuse me, my lord, I must go to Sunni and... and see how she fares." Half glancing back at the Orc, Burga hastened away.

Burzash was afraid to look the Lord of the Westfold in the eye. He'd been caught with a female's hand in his; was that on the list of punishable crimes? The Orc was ready to believe anything at the moment. Slowly rising, he had to drag his guilt-ridden gaze up to the Man's face.

"I would like to speak with you about Maukum," Erkenbrand said with a frown, his voice stern and tight as though barely held in check from a furious explosion.


End file.
